 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
IN MEMORIAM: A. F.
Ob. Oct. 12, 1879
Aug. 1875
Bright skies, bright sea—All happy things
That, borne on wings,
Cleave the long distance, glad and free—
A boat—swift swirls
Of foam-wake—boys and girls
And innocence and laughter—She
Was there, and was so happy; and I said:—
“God bless the children!”
Oct. 1879
Dead!Dead, say you? “Yes, the last sweet rose
Is gathered”—Close, O close,
O, gently, gently, very gently close
Her little book of life, and seal it up
To God, who gave, who took—O bitter cup!
O bell!
O folding grave—O mother, it is well—
Yes, it is well. He holds the key
That opens all the mysteries; and He
Has blessed our children—it is well.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |