 | From Sunset Ridge |  |
152
ON THE DEATH OF A GRANDCHILD
I
Before the azure gate of heaven
An infant doth appear;
The golden hinges softly turn
T' admit the pilgrim dear.
An infant doth appear;
The golden hinges softly turn
T' admit the pilgrim dear.
Oh! pretty one, what hast thou done
To earn repose so soon?
“Unto my parents dear I sang
My little lisping rune.”
To earn repose so soon?
“Unto my parents dear I sang
My little lisping rune.”
How cam'st thou hither, Babe beloved?
Thy feet were not so strong
That thou couldst cross thy nursery floor;
“My journey was not long!”
Thy feet were not so strong
That thou couldst cross thy nursery floor;
“My journey was not long!”
“The morning Star was given to be
The planet of my birth;
And, as it flitted from the sky,
I flitted from the earth.”
The planet of my birth;
And, as it flitted from the sky,
I flitted from the earth.”
II
Baby Maud doth beckon me
That I cross the frozen sea;
“Grandame, 't is a journey light
As to take your sleep at night.”
That I cross the frozen sea;
153
As to take your sleep at night.”
Little Babe had little load;
Not a life-time ill-bestowed,
Not contrition deep and drear,
Shadowy doubt, or fitful fear.
Not a life-time ill-bestowed,
Not contrition deep and drear,
Shadowy doubt, or fitful fear.
The deceitful ice might crack
'Neath the weight upon my back;
But when I must cross that sea,
Baby Maud shall comfort me.
'Neath the weight upon my back;
But when I must cross that sea,
Baby Maud shall comfort me.
III
Our Baby holds her little court
Where pretty things do make her sport;
The buds that open not, nor fall,
Are stationed in her silent hall;
The gracious Dove, divinest held
By all the reverend souls of eld,
To her a sweet companion grows,
Whitening above the whitest rose.
Where pretty things do make her sport;
The buds that open not, nor fall,
Are stationed in her silent hall;
The gracious Dove, divinest held
By all the reverend souls of eld,
To her a sweet companion grows,
Whitening above the whitest rose.
The lily crown shall never fade
That on her lowly mound is laid;
For not in vain she saw the light,
Nor, with poor errand, passed from sight,
But, in her one short year of home,
The little Babe did overcome.
That on her lowly mound is laid;
For not in vain she saw the light,
Nor, with poor errand, passed from sight,
But, in her one short year of home,
The little Babe did overcome.
| From Sunset Ridge | |