Yes-with the quiet dead, Baby! thy rest shall be― 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 blow, Peace! peace! thy little bosom Labours with shortening breath— Peace! peace! that tremulous sigh Speaks his departure nigh! Those are the damps of death. I've seen thee in thy beauty, Baby! thou seem'st to me! Thine up-turned eyes glazed over, Already veiled and hid By the convulsed lid, Their pupils darkly blue. Thy little mouth half open— As if like summer air Ruffling the rose leaves, there Mount up, immortal essence! If such thy visiting, How beautiful thou art! Oh! I could gaze for ever An angel's dwelling-place. Thou weepest, childless mother! Aye weep, 'twill ease thine heart; He was thy first-born son, Thy first, thine only son, "Tis hard from him to part. 'Tis hard to lay thy darling Deep in the damp cold earth— His empty crib to see, His silent nursery, Once gladsome with his mirth. To meet again in slumber, His small mouth's rosy kiss; To feel (half conscious why) And then to lie and weep, And think the livelong night Of all his winning ways, Oh! these are recollections Round mothers' hearts that cling That mingle with the tears And smiles of after years, But thou wilt then, fond mother! E'en on thy gloomy track. Thou'lt say, "My first-born blessing, It almost broke my heart "God took thee in his mercy, And thou art sanctified. "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 innocent hands that press'd— Would they have been as pure Till now, as when of yore, I lulled thee on my breast? “Now like a dew-drop shrined Within a crystal stone, Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove The Everlasting One. "And when the hour arrives To meet and welcome me." THE MILLENNIUM. BUT who shall see the glorious day, When pain shall cease, and every tear Then, Judah! thou no more shalt mourn Thy days of splendour shall return, And all be new again. The fount of life shall then be quaffed, In peace by all who come; And every wind that blow shall waft Some long-lost exile home. |