 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
The Dying Child.
'Tis dying! life is yielding place
To that mysterious charm,
Which spreads upon the troubled face
A fixed, unchanging calm,
That deepens as the parting breath
Is gently sinking into death.
To that mysterious charm,
Which spreads upon the troubled face
A fixed, unchanging calm,
That deepens as the parting breath
Is gently sinking into death.
A thoughtful beauty rests the while
Upon its snowy brow;
But those pale lips could never smile
More radiantly than now;
And sure some heavenly dreams begin
To dawn upon the soul within!
Upon its snowy brow;
But those pale lips could never smile
More radiantly than now;
And sure some heavenly dreams begin
To dawn upon the soul within!
O that those mildly conscious lips
Were parted to reply—
To tell how death's severe eclipse
Is passing from thine eye;
For living eye can never see
The change that death hath wrought in thee.
Were parted to reply—
To tell how death's severe eclipse
Is passing from thine eye;
For living eye can never see
The change that death hath wrought in thee.
Perhaps thy sight is wandering far
Throughout the kindled sky,
In tracing every infant star
Amid the flames on high;—
Souls of the just, whose path is bent
Around the glorious firmament.
Throughout the kindled sky,
In tracing every infant star
Amid the flames on high;—
Souls of the just, whose path is bent
Around the glorious firmament.
Perhaps thine eye is gazing down
Upon the earth below,
Rejoicing to have gained thy crown,
And hurried from its wo
To dwell beneath the throne of Him,
Before whose glory heaven is dim.
Upon the earth below,
Rejoicing to have gained thy crown,
And hurried from its wo
To dwell beneath the throne of Him,
Before whose glory heaven is dim.
71
Thy life! how cold it might have been,
If days had grown to years!
How dark, how deeply stained with sin,
With weariness and tears!
How happy thus to sink to rest,
So early numbered with the blest!
If days had grown to years!
How dark, how deeply stained with sin,
With weariness and tears!
How happy thus to sink to rest,
So early numbered with the blest!
'Tis well, then, that the smile should lie
Upon thy marble cheek:
It tells to our inquiring eye
What words could never speak—
A revelation sweetly given
Of all that man can learn of heaven.
Upon thy marble cheek:
It tells to our inquiring eye
What words could never speak—
A revelation sweetly given
Of all that man can learn of heaven.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |