I lie amid the Goldenrod, 

 I love to see it lean and nod; 

 I love to feel the grassy sod 

 Whose kindly breast will hold me last, 

 Whose patient arms will fold me fast ! 

 Fold me from sunshine and from song, 

 Fold me from sorrow and from wrong: 

 Through gleaming gates of Goldenrod 

 I'll pass into the rest of God. 



MARY CLEMMER: Goldenrod. 



