 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
48
THE CHILD INNOCENTS.
—12th June, 1889
A hundred children, full of life,
They left the busy town,
The dreary din, the stubborn strife,
And labour's iron frown;
A hundred corpses now they rest,
In horror stern and stark,
And on each little tender breast
Is many a cruel mark;
Now all is silence dark and deep,
That thrilled with gay intents,
For they shall never wake from sleep,
Those fair Child Innocents.
They left the busy town,
The dreary din, the stubborn strife,
And labour's iron frown;
A hundred corpses now they rest,
In horror stern and stark,
And on each little tender breast
Is many a cruel mark;
Now all is silence dark and deep,
That thrilled with gay intents,
For they shall never wake from sleep,
Those fair Child Innocents.
Out on that fatal Wednesday morn,
With bosoms tuned to play,
On wings of mirth and music borne,
They went their frolic way;
With songs and dancing feet they flew,
With quick rejoicing breath,
So eager for their pleasure new,
To find their playmate Death;
The shouts of laughter turn to shrieks,
Woe that for none relents,
That blasting ruin on them wreaks,
Those fair Child Innocents.
With bosoms tuned to play,
On wings of mirth and music borne,
They went their frolic way;
With songs and dancing feet they flew,
With quick rejoicing breath,
So eager for their pleasure new,
To find their playmate Death;
The shouts of laughter turn to shrieks,
Woe that for none relents,
That blasting ruin on them wreaks,
Those fair Child Innocents.
A tiny shoe, a tattered glove,
The fragments wildly shed
Of baby frocks, made bright by love,
Now grimly gashed and red;
Yes, here a hat with ghastly stains,
And there a broken toy
A mother's hand but idly strains,
Sole remnant of her boy;
And everywhere the signs of doom,
In dreadful rags and rents,
That gathers in its funeral gloom
Those fair Child Innocents.
The fragments wildly shed
Of baby frocks, made bright by love,
Now grimly gashed and red;
Yes, here a hat with ghastly stains,
And there a broken toy
A mother's hand but idly strains,
Sole remnant of her boy;
And everywhere the signs of doom,
In dreadful rags and rents,
That gathers in its funeral gloom
Those fair Child Innocents.
Ah, shattered out of human shape,
That shelter none could shield,
Sweet forms too fragile to escape
That bloody battle-field;
Sweet trifles worn in girlish way,
The tress with ribbon crost—
Soft fingers stretched as though to pray,
And stiffened into frost;
And faces just for kisses wrought,
Made strange with murderous dents,
By hungry hopeless gaze are sought,
Those fair Child Innocents.
That shelter none could shield,
Sweet forms too fragile to escape
That bloody battle-field;
Sweet trifles worn in girlish way,
The tress with ribbon crost—
Soft fingers stretched as though to pray,
And stiffened into frost;
And faces just for kisses wrought,
Made strange with murderous dents,
By hungry hopeless gaze are sought,
Those fair Child Innocents.
49
The father oped his eyes, at last,
To plead his darlings' fate,
And knew not ere his spirit past,
His pleading came too late;
The strong man looked upon the woe,
He saw the sufferers lie,
And with one great heart-tearing throe,
Himself lay down to die;
What had they done, to suffer more
Than fancy even invents,
Crushed out of gladness sick and sore,
Those fair Child Innocents?
To plead his darlings' fate,
And knew not ere his spirit past,
His pleading came too late;
The strong man looked upon the woe,
He saw the sufferers lie,
And with one great heart-tearing throe,
Himself lay down to die;
What had they done, to suffer more
Than fancy even invents,
Crushed out of gladness sick and sore,
Those fair Child Innocents?
O was it that the Master dear,
Who yet feels childhood's will,
Found very Heaven without them drear,
And needed playmates still?
And thus, through bitter pangs, the bud
That else might sadly fade,
Purged from its clinging earthly mud,
Was perfect blossom made?
We cannot know, we hope, at least,
By agony's ascents,
They fitted were for glorious feast,
Those fair Child Innocents.
Who yet feels childhood's will,
Found very Heaven without them drear,
And needed playmates still?
And thus, through bitter pangs, the bud
That else might sadly fade,
Purged from its clinging earthly mud,
Was perfect blossom made?
We cannot know, we hope, at least,
By agony's ascents,
They fitted were for glorious feast,
Those fair Child Innocents.
The mangled body, torturing pain,
The terror shutting in,
None—not a single ache—was vain,
To save from future sin;
And He, who walked the fiery flames
Of old with martyred men,
Perchance held up those writhing frames,
And stood beside them then;
We cannot tell?—nay, we are sure
Calm every soul contents,
And they are happy now and pure,
Those fair Child Innocents.
The terror shutting in,
None—not a single ache—was vain,
To save from future sin;
And He, who walked the fiery flames
Of old with martyred men,
Perchance held up those writhing frames,
And stood beside them then;
We cannot tell?—nay, we are sure
Calm every soul contents,
And they are happy now and pure,
Those fair Child Innocents.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |