While you're resting, my darling,
I dream of the shadowy hour,
When one of us looks the last
On the light of its household bower,
Then a sad sigh heaves my breast,
And tears from my eyelids burst,
As I ask of the future dim,
"Which shall be summoned first?"

Sometimes I pray in terror
That you may be first to go,
Never again to sorrow,
Or to feel one throb of woe,
Beyond the mists of the river,
Where mystic shadows weave,
I have no fears, my beloved,
In One we both believe.

But I, oh I so lonely,
Could I look as I look now,
If this was thy last long sleep,
The ice of death on thy brow;
In sight of the holy angels,
I offer my earnest plea,
I cry to my God and pray,
"If one goes first, take me."

Our lives have been happy dear,
I fancy the tears we shed,
By our lost children's coffins.