 | Miscellaneous Poems |  |
18
A. B.
[Stranger, in this small grave there lies]
Stranger, in this small grave there liesAll a mother's heart could prize;
It was a little treasure, lent
For some few years, with wise intent,
By Him, who in his mercy gave
To innocence an early grave;
Yet He left not in despair
All that fond maternal care,
But promise made, with parting breath,
That could force unwilling death,
His gentle burden to restore,
When at heaven's opening door,
All pain and sorrow reconciled,
Should meet the mother and the child.
Child and mother, happy twain,
Never more to part again;
Each by suffering purer made
For that blest life, that ne'er shall fade.
| Miscellaneous Poems | |