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No more my baby shalt thou lie,
With drowsy smile and half shut eye,
Pillowed upon my fostering breast,
Serenely sinking into rest !
The grave must be thy cradle now;
The wild flowers o'er thy breast shall grow,
While still my heart, all full of thee,
In widowed solitude shall be.
No taint of earth, no thought of sin,
E'er dwelt thy stainless breast within ;
And God hath laid thee down to sleep,
Like a pure pearl below the deep.
Yes, from mine arms thy soul hath flown
Above, and round the heavenly throne,
To join that blest angelic ring,
That aye around the altar sing.
Methought when years had rolled away,
That thou would'st be my age's stay ;
And often have I dreamt to see
The boy—the youth—the man in thee!
But thou hast pasto--for ever gone,
To leave me childless and alone,
Like Rachael pouring tear on tear,
And looking not for comfort here!
Farewell, my child, the dews shall fall,
At noon and evening, o'er thy pall;
And daisies, when the vernal year
Revives, upon thy turf appear.
The earliest snowdrop there shall spring,
And lark delight to fold his wing ;
And roses pale, and lilies fair,
With perfume load the summer air !
babe! if life were long, This would be even a heavier song, But years like phantoms quickly pass, , They look to us from memory’s glass.
Soon on death’s couch shall I recline;
Soon shall my head be laid with thine,
And sundered spirits meet above
To live for evermore in love.-Moir.
THE INFANT'S SMILE IN DEATH.
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 hazel eyes
There spake 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
There had been a murmuring sound
With which her boy would charm his mother's ear,
Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set
His seal of silence. But there beamed a smile,
So fixed and holy, on that marble brow,-
Death gazed, and left it there; he dared not steal
The signet ring of Heaven.-Mrs. Sigourney.
As one who walking in the twilight gloom
Hears round him voices as it darkens,
And seeing not the forms from whence they come,
Pauses from time to time, and turns and hearkens.
Perhaps on earth I never shall behold
of sense their outward form and semblance;
Therefore to me they never will grow old,
But live for ever young in my remembrance ;
Never grow old, nor change, nor pass away-
Their gentle voices will flow on for ever,
When life grows bare and tarnished with decay,
As with a leafless landscape flows a river.
THE DYING CHILD TO HIS MOTHER.
Cease here longer to detain me,
Fondest mother, drowned in woe;
Now thy kind caresses pain me;
Morn advances- let me go !
See yon orient streak appearing,
Harbinger of endless day:
Hark! a voice the darkness cheering,
Calls my ransomed soul away.
Now my cries shall cease to grieve thee,
Now my trembling heart finds rest: Kinder arms than thine receive me,
Softer pillow than thy breast.
Weep not o'er those
that languish, Upward turning towards their home; Raptured, they'll forget all anguish
While they wait to see thee come.
There, my mother, pleasures centre;
Weeping, parting, care or woe, Ne'er our Father's house shall enter ?
Morn advances—let me go !
Yet to leave thee sorrowing, rends me,
Though again His voice I hear: Rise ! may every grace attend thee;
Rise! and seek to meet me there.-Cecil.