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THE WEEPING CHILD. |
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They have dispersed—that joyous throng,—
Hush'd is the laughing tone; And all that to that hour belong— The voice of prayer, the voice of song—
Forevermore are gone!
1349.
THE WEEPING CHILD.
" Why weepest thou, my child ?" the mother said, Pressing the shining curls on his fair head
Closer to her fond breast: Long had she sweetly sung, caress'd, and smiled, But strove in vain to soothe her weeping child,
And hush him to his rest.
At length he raised his bright lips to her ear, And whisper'd, " Mother, 0 my mother dear,
I fain would quickly go To that bright land, that region of the blest, Where you have told me that my brothers rest,
Beyond these shades of woe."
To her warm heart she press'd him closer still, Sobbing in tones which might the hard-rock thrill :—
" My child, my darling one, And wouldst thou trembling bind thy petals up, Before from happy childhood's buds of hope
A single leaf has gone ? - |
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