A CHILD'S FANCY. 61 And when I find her, mother, We will go away alone, And I will tell her how we've mourned All the while she has been gone! Oh, I shall be delighted To hear her speak again! Though I know she'll ne return to us To ask her would be vain! So I'll put my arms around her, And then I'll ask the angel And you'll only think, dear mother, And have gone to sleep beneath a tree, THE DESERTED NURSERY. THE little crib is empty Where oft I've seen thee lie, And oh, how silent is the place In vain I look around me, God's sunshine streameth in the room, I never dreamed such agony, Thy playthings lie around me, Gay toys and picture-books are there Ah! sure thou must be near. THE DESERTED NURSERY. Thy tiny pair of half-worn shoes, Thy whistle, hat, and favourite whip- My trembling hand encloses Thy bright and clustering curls ; Last night, in troubled slumber, The dimpled hand was not in mine, Father, forgive my anguish ! For thou art all our trust! So cherished and so dear, 63 Lent to us for a little while, Our earthly home to cheer. Now the Good Shepherd leadeth him To meet our loved one there. ROBERTS. NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. WHEN spirits from their cumbering clay The wheel lies broken at the fount, The pitcher at the spring; But upward doth the spirit mount, And notes of glory sing. Then calmly may our spirits bow Beneath affliction's rod; Who-who would murmur that his child S. F. SMITH. DEATH OF AN INFANT. 65 DEATH OF AN INFANT. DEATH found strange beauty on that cherub brow And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose On cheek and lip; he touched the veins with ice, And the rose faded; forth from those blue eyes There spoke a wishful tenderness—a doubt Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence Alone can wear. With ruthless haste he bound The silken fringes of their curtaining lids For ever; there had been a murmuring sound MRS. HEMANS. THE cup of sorrow is in constant circulation; we must all drink of it, and some drink deeply. It is not material whose turn comes first—the thing is to benefit by the draught; for it requires very little self-knowledge to convince us that we are unequal to prosperity, and unable to sustain it without growing careless, or attaching ourselves too strongly to the things which perish, to the exclusion of things eternal. |