 | Poems |  |
ON A DEAD INFANT.
Dead! dead! What peace abides within the word—
For thee, O little one, what bliss of rest!
By her who bore thee, with what anguish heard,
God knows! God knoweth best;
God willeth best; yet while the words we say,
We know thy grief, wild mother, must have way.
For thee, O little one, what bliss of rest!
By her who bore thee, with what anguish heard,
God knows! God knoweth best;
God willeth best; yet while the words we say,
We know thy grief, wild mother, must have way.
Oh, never shall those tiny fingers press
Her cheek!—oh, never to the full breasts steal,
That yearn their tender touch, that so would bless,
Their blessëd touch to feel!
Oh, never shall those closed lids opening rise
To look delight into her hungering eyes!
Her cheek!—oh, never to the full breasts steal,
That yearn their tender touch, that so would bless,
Their blessëd touch to feel!
Oh, never shall those closed lids opening rise
To look delight into her hungering eyes!
Yearned for—how yearned for wast thou, little one!
Each month more dear that seemed to bring thee near!
Alas! that seemed, but seemed; God's will be done!
We may not know thee here;
We may not know thee, but as, babe, thou art,
Cold even to thy mother's quivering heart.
Each month more dear that seemed to bring thee near!
Alas! that seemed, but seemed; God's will be done!
We may not know thee here;
We may not know thee, but as, babe, thou art,
Cold even to thy mother's quivering heart.
Not know thee! Mother, with thy sorrow wild,
How is that still face stamped within thy heart!
That face so looked on, when, “Give me my child!”
Thou criedst, nor dared we part
In that first moment from thy arms' embrace
The cold white stillness of that blind, fixed face.
How is that still face stamped within thy heart!
That face so looked on, when, “Give me my child!”
Thou criedst, nor dared we part
In that first moment from thy arms' embrace
The cold white stillness of that blind, fixed face.
God comfort her! all human words are vain
To bid her shun to die or care to live.
Who shall bid peace to be for her again?
Who, save God, comfort give?
Who fill the empty heart that finds a void
In all it feared or hoped for or enjoyed?
To bid her shun to die or care to live.
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Who, save God, comfort give?
Who fill the empty heart that finds a void
In all it feared or hoped for or enjoyed?
God comfort her!—who else?—not even he
Who for thee, sweet one, bore a father's love,
Who, with what pride and joy! she looked to see
Bend this new life above,
And show her in his eyes the unshadowed bliss
That looked from hers—alas! now changed to this!
Who for thee, sweet one, bore a father's love,
Who, with what pride and joy! she looked to see
Bend this new life above,
And show her in his eyes the unshadowed bliss
That looked from hers—alas! now changed to this!
Leave her to God and to the tender years
That soften misery into gentle grief,
Grief that may almost find at last from tears,
Sad tears, may find relief,
Grief that from time may gather perfect trust
In all Heaven wills, and own even this is just.
That soften misery into gentle grief,
Grief that may almost find at last from tears,
Sad tears, may find relief,
Grief that from time may gather perfect trust
In all Heaven wills, and own even this is just.
For thee, dead snowdrop, all our tears are dried;
We know thee evermore as to us given
Within our hearts for ever to abide,
Type of all meet for heaven,
Type of all purity of which we guess,
That Heaven shall make more pure and earth not less.
We know thee evermore as to us given
Within our hearts for ever to abide,
Type of all meet for heaven,
Type of all purity of which we guess,
That Heaven shall make more pure and earth not less.
Wake not! the cruel tender hand of death,
Death, with a tenderness for earth too deep,
Ere thou hadst drawn one mortal troubled breath,
Hushed thee to quiet sleep,
Stilled, ere it woke, the anguish of thy cries,
Nor gave the tears of earth to dim thine eyes.
Death, with a tenderness for earth too deep,
Ere thou hadst drawn one mortal troubled breath,
Hushed thee to quiet sleep,
Stilled, ere it woke, the anguish of thy cries,
Nor gave the tears of earth to dim thine eyes.
Why would we wake thee?—joy and grief, we know,
Walk hand in hand along earth's crowded ways;
Who 'scape the thorns that in our paths below
For all life thickly lays?
Why should we wish thee on a weary way
Where thou might'st long for night while yet 'twas day?
Walk hand in hand along earth's crowded ways;
Who 'scape the thorns that in our paths below
For all life thickly lays?
Why should we wish thee on a weary way
Where thou might'st long for night while yet 'twas day?
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For we, most blest, even when to heaven we turn
Eyes bright with thanks for all that makes life dear,
Even then our trembling hearts have not to learn
Of sorrows that are here—
Of griefs that dimmed our dearest hours with tears—
Of bitter memories that seem shadowing fears.
Eyes bright with thanks for all that makes life dear,
Even then our trembling hearts have not to learn
Of sorrows that are here—
Of griefs that dimmed our dearest hours with tears—
Of bitter memories that seem shadowing fears.
Hope has no part in thee, in surety lost,
Sweet bud of being, but to bloom above;
Nor may our thoughts of thee with fear be crossed,
Thou, homed in God's dear love,
Borne by thy heavenly Father's hand from all
That makes the purest stoop, the strongest fall.
Sweet bud of being, but to bloom above;
Nor may our thoughts of thee with fear be crossed,
Thou, homed in God's dear love,
Borne by thy heavenly Father's hand from all
That makes the purest stoop, the strongest fall.
Lily, thou shalt not know the soiling gust
Of earthly passion bow thee to its will;
Temptation and all ill are from thee thrust,
Nor tears thine eyes shall fill;
Remorse and penitence thou shalt not need,
From sin's pollution and earth's errors freed.
Of earthly passion bow thee to its will;
Temptation and all ill are from thee thrust,
Nor tears thine eyes shall fill;
Remorse and penitence thou shalt not need,
From sin's pollution and earth's errors freed.
Oh, blessed, to 'scape the mystery of life,
Its wavering walk 'twixt holiness and sin!
Allowed, without earth's struggles, our weak strife,
Heaven's palms to win,
Through the bright portals thou at once hast pressed,
To endless blessedness and lasting rest.
Its wavering walk 'twixt holiness and sin!
Allowed, without earth's struggles, our weak strife,
Heaven's palms to win,
Through the bright portals thou at once hast pressed,
To endless blessedness and lasting rest.
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