He went before my load was quicken'd,
And I lay in alone.
He was not there when baby sicken'd,
Nor when it was gone.
I walkt with Mother to the church,
With Mother and Fan,
My hard eyes ever on the search —
Pity me who can!
The grief was bad enough to bear,
So dreadfully to wean it;
But to go home and leave it there,
And he had never seen it —!
It was a thing to thank God for
That home for me was none;
I knew before we reacht the door
That my home life was done.