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A CHILD'S DEATH. |
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But the lily-bed lies beaten down by the rain,
And the tallest is gone from the place where he grew; My tallest! my fairest! Oh let me complain ;
For all life is unroofed, and the tempests beat through.
I murmur not. Father! My will is with Thee;
I knew at the first that my darling was Thine: Hadst Thou taken him earlier, O Father ! — but see !
Thou hadst left him so long that I dreamed he was mine.
Thou hast taken the fairest: he was fairest to me;
Thou hast taken the fairest: 'tis always Thy way; Thou hast taken the dearest: was he dearest to Thee ?
Thou art welcome, thrice welcome : —yet woe is the day!
Thou hast honored my child by the speed of Thy choice, Thou hast crowned him with glory, o'erwhelmed him with mirth: He sings up in Heaven with his sweet-sounding voice, While I, a saint's mother, am weeping on earth.
Yet oh for that voice, which is thrilling through Heaven,
One moment my ears with its music to slake! Oh no! not for worlds would I have him re-given,
Yet I long to have back what I would not re-take. |
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