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Such calm her geutle spirit brings
As, smiling overhead, White statued saints with peaceful wings
Shadow the sleeping dead.
Our Christie is no rosy Grace
With beauty all may see ; But I have never felt a face
Grow half so dear to me. No curling hair about her brows,
Like many merry girls; Well, straighter to my heart it goes,
And round it curls and curls.
Meek as the wood anemone glints,
To see if heaven be blue, Is my pale flower, with her sweet tints
Of heaven shining through! She will be poor, and never fret;
Sleep sound, and lowly lie; Will live her quiet life, and let
The great world-storm go by.
Dear love! God keep her in his grasp,
Meek maiden or brave wife! Till his good angels softly clasp
Her closed book of life; And this fair picture of the sun,
With birthday blessings given, Shall fade before a glorious one
Taken of her in heaven.
Just before the lamp was lighted,
Just before the children came, While the room was very quiet,
I heard some one call my name. All at once the window opened :
In a field were lambs and sheep ; Some from out a brook were drinkiug,
Some were lying fast asleep.
But I could not see the Saviour,
Though I strained my eyes to see; And I wondered, if he saw me,
Would he speak to such as me. In a moment I was looking
On a world so bright and fair, Which was full of little children,
And they seemed so happy there.
They were singing, oh, so sweetly!
Sweeter songs I never heard; They were singing sweeter, mother,
Than our little yellow-bird ; And while I my breath was holdiug,
One, so bright, upon me smiled, And I knew it must be Jesus,
When he said, " Come here, my child;
" Come up here, my little Bessie,
Come up here, and live with me, Where the children never suffer,
But are happier than you see." Then I thought of all you'd told me
Of that bright and happy land; I was going when you called me,
When you came and kissed my hand.
And at first I felt so sorry
You had called me. I would go; Oh, to sleep and never suffer!
Mother, don't be crying so! Hug me closer, closer, mother;
Put your arms around me tight. Oh, how much I love you, mother,
And I feel so strange to-night!
And the mother pressed her closer
To her overburdened breast; On the heart so near to breaking
Lay the heart so near its rest! At the solemn hour of midnight,
In the darkness calm and deep, Lying on her mother's bosom,
Little Bessie fell asleep.
LITTLE BESSIE. A. D. F. Randolph.
Hug me closer, closer, mother,
Put your arms around me tight; I am cold and tired, mother,
And I feel so strange to-night! Something hurts me here, dear mother,
Like a stone upon my breast: Oh, I wonder, wonder, mother,
Why it is I can not rest!
All the day, while you were working,
As I lay upon my bed, I was trying to be patient,
And to think of what you said� How the kind and blessed Jesus
Loves his lambs to watch and keep, And I wished he'd come and take me
In his arms, that I might sleep.