 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.
Vain it were to say that night
Folds away the morrow—
Oh, you cannot see the light
Through this aching sorrow!
Folds away the morrow—
Oh, you cannot see the light
Through this aching sorrow!
Beauty from your lives is borne,
Brother, sister, weeping;
But the cherub boy you mourn
Is not dead, but sleeping.
Brother, sister, weeping;
But the cherub boy you mourn
Is not dead, but sleeping.
Folded are the dimpled arms
From your soft caressing;
Yet our God in darker forms
Sendeth down his blessing.
From your soft caressing;
Yet our God in darker forms
Sendeth down his blessing.
Death, a breeze from heaven astray,
Still, with wing the fleetest,
Drifts the lovely flowers away,
Where hope clings the sweetest.
Still, with wing the fleetest,
Drifts the lovely flowers away,
Where hope clings the sweetest.
Strong to change, but not destroy
While the paley winglets
Veil the forehead of the boy
Bright with golden ringlets.
While the paley winglets
Veil the forehead of the boy
Bright with golden ringlets.
Faith, though dumb at the great loss
Which hath made you weepers,
Closer, closer clasps the Cross
Down among the sleepers.
Which hath made you weepers,
Closer, closer clasps the Cross
Down among the sleepers.
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And though wild your anguish be,
And your hearts all broken,
“Suffer them to come to me,”
Hath been sweetly spoken.
And your hearts all broken,
“Suffer them to come to me,”
Hath been sweetly spoken.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |