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Nor will affection let me
Then,—thon in heaven and I on earth,-
I Did hut see him, and he disappeared,
And now, sweet hahe, what can my tremh-
Thus while no eye is witness of my moan,
An offering too for thy sad tomh I have,
THE CHILD'S ANSWER.
Weef not, my mother, weep not, I am hlest;
THE DYING INFANT TO HIS MOTHER.
"Cease here longer to detain me, Fondest mother drown'd in wo;
Now thy kind caresses pain me,
"See yon orient streak appearing!
** Lately launch'd, a tremhling stranger.
"Now my cries shall cease to grieve ik? Now my tremhling heart find rest; Kinder arms than thine receive me, Softer pillow than thy hreast.
"Weep not o'er these eyes that languid,
"There, my mother, pleasures centre-
"As thro' this calm, this holy dawning,
'* Blessings endless, richest hlessings,
"Yet to leave thee sorrowing rends mc,
ON VIEWING THE DEAD BODY OF A BEAUTIFUL INFANT.
There is a smile upon that cheek—
The chill of death is on that cheek—
TO A DYING INFANT.
Sleep, little hahy! Sleep!
Not in thy cradle hed, Not on thy mother's hreast Henceforth shall he thy rest,
But with the quiet dead.
Yes—with the quiet dead,
Bahy, thy rest shall he! Oh '. many a weary wight, Weary of life and light
Would fain lie down with thee.
Flee little tender nursling!
Flee to thy grassy nest; There the first flowers shall hlow, The first pure flake of snow
Shall fall upon thy hreast—
Peace! Peace! The little hosom Lahours with shortening hreath ;—
Peace! Peace! That tremulous sigh
Speaks his departure nigh:
I've seen thee in thy heauty,
But never then wert thou
So heautiful as now,
Thine upturn'd eyes glazed over,
Already veil'd and hid
By the convulsed lid,
Thy little mouth half open—
Thy soft lip quivering.
Thy soul was fluttering.
Mount up, immortal essence I
And is this death !—Dread Thing?
If such thy visiting,
Oh! I could gaze for ever
Upon that waxen face; So passionless, so pure! The little shrine was sure
An Angel's dwelling-place.
Thou weepest, childless Mother!
Aye, weep—'twill ease thine heart; He was thy first-horn son, Thy first, thine only one,
'Tis hard from him to part.
'Tis hard to lay thy darling
Deep in the damp, cold earth,—
His empty crih to see,
His si!ent nursery
To meet again in slumher,
His small mouth's rosy kiss; Then, wakened with a start, By thine own throhhing heart, His twining arms to miss!
To feel (half conscious why,)
Till memory on thy soal
Flashes the painful whole,
And, then to lie and weep,
(Feeding thine own distress
With accurate greediness)
Of all his winuing ways,
His pretty playful smiles,
And all his little wiles!
Oh! these are recollections
Round mothers' hearts that cling,— That mingle with the tears And smiles of after years,
With oft awakening.
Bat thon wilt then, fond Mothcr!
In after years look hack, (Time hrings such wondrous easing) With sadness not uupleasing,
E'en on this gloomy track,—
Thon'it say—" My first-horn hlessing, It almost hroke my heart,
When thon wert forced to go!
And yet, for thee, 1 know,
"God took thee in his mercy,
He fought the fight for thee,
He won the victory,
"I look around and see
The evil ways of men; And, oh! Beloved child! I'm more than reconciled
To thy departure then.
"The little arms that clasped me, The iunocent lips that pressed,—
Would they have heen as pure
Till now, as when of yore,
"Now, like a dew-drop shrined
Within a crystal stone, Thoo'rt safe in heav'n my dove I Safe with the Source of Love, ThevEverlasting One.
"And when the hour arrives
From flesh that sets me free, Thy spirit may await The first at Heaven's gate, To meet and weleome me."
THE PHOPHETIC DEW-DROPS.
'twas morn—the dewy morn,
Was into heanty horn,
There was a gentle sound, An infant's lisping voice upon the wind; Set on whose hrow, th' impress of mind
Was seen, and knowledge found A pale, a lovely child—a gem, Bright as the loveliest flowers of Flora's diadem.
"Tell me, my father, why The dew-drops hasten from each pale wild
Those pearly dew-drops diet Look! some have liv'd from twilight's close, Inhaling sweets from all—the lily and the rose.
"Tell me, my father, why
Of stars in yon hright sky, Like diamonds on the flowers have shone, While Even lit their rays as Night was hastening on?"
"My child," the father said, While a soft passing shower to Earth was
given, And round them shone the arch of heav'n,
"Thy dew-drops are not dead; For nothing withers from oar world 3ut in yon Heav'n exists with hrighter hloom unfuri'd.
"Seest thou yon heaming how 1 There live the pearly dew-drops mourn'd
hy thee, Re-set, and shining gloriously—
Jewels in Eden now: And nothing know we hright or fair But like those drops will pass—and live in rudiance there.
"All fades we love helow; The hlossomings of hope, of life, will die; Dew-drops, an.l flowers, and infancy,
Alike a withering know: Yet when they from our world are riven, Their sweets like incense rise, to live again in Heaven."
Prophetic words! that child, In its soul's hrightness, while yet morn—
has passed— Ere Earth a sorrow round it cast,
Or serpent's trail defil'd; And like the dew-drops of its love, Exists in glory now—a radiant one ahove!
My chaise the village inn did gain,
Tipped with refulgent gold the vane
Across the way I silent sped,
In moralizing o'er the dead
There many a humhle green grave shewed, Where want, and pain, and toil did rest;
And many a flattering stone I viewed,
A faded heech its shadow hrown
On which, though scarce with grass o'er-
A piece of hread hetween them lay,
Which neither seemed inclined to take;
Anii yet they looked so much a prey
"My little children, let me know
And why you wasteful from you throw That hread, which many a one would cheer?"
The little hoy, in accents sweet,
Replied, while tears each other chased;
"Lady, we've not enough to eat; Oh ! if we had, we would not waste:—
"But sister Mary's naughty grown,
Though sure I am, the hread's her own,
"Indeed," the wan, starved Mary said,
For yesterday I got some hread;
My heart did swell, my hosom heave,
I silent sat upon the grave,
With looks that told a tale of wo,
With looks that spoke a grateful heart,
The shivering hrother nearer drew,
"Before my father went away,
Sister and I did nought hut play—
"But then poor mother did so cry,
She told us that she soon should die,
"She said, that when the war was o'er,
Bat if we never saw him more
"She kissed us hoth—and then she died!— And we no more a mother have;
Here many a day we've sat and cried
"But when my father came not here,
We should he sure to meet him there,
"We hand m hand went many a mile,
And some did sigh, and some did smile,
"But when we reach'd the sea, and found 'Twas one great water round us spread;
We thought, that father must he drowned, And cried, and wished, we hoth were dead.
"So we returned to mother's grave,
And only long with her to he;
Said, father died heyond the sea.
"Then since no parent here we have,
Lady, pray, can you tell us where
He lives in heaven, mother said,
"So, if she thinks we want his aid,
I clasped the prattlers to my hreast,
I'll clothe you, feed you, give you rest,
"Aud God shall he your Father still;
'Twas he in mercy sent me here, To teach you to ohey his will,
Your steps to guide,your hearts to cheer.'
Yes! there are real mourners— I hare seen A fair, sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene; Attention, through the day, her duties
claimed, And to he useful as resigned she aimed: Neatly she drest, nor vainly seem'd to expect Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect; But when her wearied parents sank to sleep, She sought her place to meditate and weep: Then to her mind was all the past displayed, That faithful Memory hrings to Sorrow's aid: For then she thought on one regretted youth, Her tender trust, and his unquestion'd troth. In every place she wandered where they'd
heen, And sadly-sacred held the parting scene; Where last for sea he took his leave—that
place With douhle interest would she nightly trace: For long the courtship was, and he would say, Each time he sailed—" This once and then
the day:" Yet prudence tarried; hut when last he went, He drew from pitying love a full consent.
Happy he sailed, and great the care she took, That he should softly sleep, and smartly look; White was his hetter linen, and his check Was made more trim than any on the deck; And every comfort men at sea can know, Was hers to huy, to make, and to hestow: For he to Greenland sailed, and much she
told, How he should guard against the climate's
cold Yet saw not danger; dangers he'd withstood, Nor could she trace the fever in his hlood: His messmates smiled at flushings in hi
cheek, And he too smiled, hut seldom would he
speak; For now he felt the danger, felt the pain, With grievous symptoms he could not explain: Hope was awakened as for home he sailed, And quickly sank, and never more prevailed.