'Twas the old-road-through pain-
That unfrequented-one-
With many a turn-and thorn-
That stops-at Heaven-

This-was the Town-she passed-
There-where she-rested-last-
Then-stepped more fast-
The little tracks-close prest-
Then-not so swift-
Slow-slow-as feet did weary-grow-
Then-stopped-no other track!

Wait! Look! Her little Book-
The leaf-at love-turned back-
Her very Hat-
And this worn shoe just fits the track-

Another bed-a short one-
Women make-tonight-
In Chambers bright-
Too out of sight-though-
For our hoarse Good Night-
To touch her Head!