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ON THE DEATH OP A CHILD. ?3 |
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The softly whispering breeze, The floating crimson of the sky, The laughing riv'let warbling by,
The sound of rustling trees,—
All, all shall strike the same Deep-felt emotion through each breast, And both shall share the same unrest,
The same unearthly flame.
0, they shall throb together! The sweet delight, which thrills one heart, Shall bid the quick'ning pulses start,
And tremble through the other.
1847.
ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.
Another gem, that shone with purest ray, Has left its casket to death's dire decay: 'Twas taken, by the Prince of Bethlehem,
From its bleak bed beneath our stormy sky, To glisten in his glorious diadem While an eternity is rolling by.
An early flower before us seem'd to fade, And in the dust its beauteous form we laid; Yet 'twas transplanted from life's cold parterre,
To flourish sweetly in a purer clime, Where are no weeds of sin, and earthly care, Nor clouds of woe, nor blighting mists of time. |
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