Oh! my dear mother, art thou still awake?

[ZaunköniG]

Oh! my dear mother, art thou still awake?
Or art thou sleeping on thy Maker's arm, -
waiting in slumber for the shrill alarm
Ordain'd to give the world its final shake?

Art thou with 'interlunar night' opaque
Clad like a worm while waiting for its wings;
Or doth the shadow of departed things
Dwell on thy soul as on a breezeless lake!

Oh! would that I could see thee in thy heaven
For one brief hour, and know i was forgiven
For all the pain and doubt and rankling shame

Which i have caused to make thee weep or sigh.
Bootless the wish! for where thou art on high,
Sin casts no shadow, sorrow hath no name.