BETTER IN THE MORNING.

Akaroa Mail and Banks Peninsula Advertiser, Volume 3, Issue 225, 13 September 1878, Page 3

BETTER IN THE MORNING.

By the Rev. Lbander S. Coan. '• You can't help the baby, parson. < But still I want ye to go Down' and look in upon her, An' read an' pray, you know. Only last week she was skipping round A pullin' my whiakers'n hair, A climbin" up to the table Into her little high chair. " The first night that she took it, When her little cheeks grew red, When she kissed good night to papa, And went away to bed— Sez she ''Tis head-ache, papa, Be better in the mornin'—-bye ;' An' somethin' in how she said it Just made me want to cry. " But the mornin' brought the fever, And her little hands were hot, An' the pretty red of her cheeks Grew into a crimson spot. But she laid there jest ez patient Ez ever woman could, Takin' whatever we give her Better'n a grown woman would. '• The days are terrible long an' slow ; An* she's growin' wus in each; And now she's jest a slippin' Clear away out uv our reach. Every night when I kiss her, Tryin' hard not to cry, She says, in a way that kills me, ' Be better in the mornin' —bye 1' " She can't get thro' the night, parson, So I want ye to come an' pray, And talk with mother a little— You'll know just what to say; Not that the baby needs it, Not that we make any complaint, That God seems to think He's needin' The smile uv the little saint." I walked along with the Corporal To the door of his humble home, To which the silent messenger Before me also had come ; And if he had been a titled prince I would not have been honored more Than I was with his heartfelt welcome To his lowly cottage door. Night falls again in the cottage ; They move in silence and dread Around the room where the baby Lies panting on her bed. " Does baby know papa, darling ?" And she moves her little face With answer that shews she knows him, But scarce a visible trace Of her wonderful infantile beauty Remains as it was before The unseen silent messenger Had waited at the door. "Papa—kiss—baby ;—'s —so tired." The man bows low his face, And the two swollen hands are lifted In baby's last embrace. And into her father's grizzled beard The little-red fingers cling, While her husky whispered tenderness Tears from a rock would ring. " BabyT—is—so—sick—papa— But—don't—want—you—to— cry." The little hands fell on the coverlet— " Be—better—in—momin'—bye!" And night around baby is falling, Settling down dark and dense ; Does God need their darling in heaven ThatfHe most carry her hence ? 1 prayed with tears in my voice, As the Corporal solemnly knelt With such grief as never before His great war-heart had felt. Oh ! frivolous men and women ! Do you know that around you, and nighAlike from the humble and haughty Goeth up evermore the cry ; '" My child, my precious, my darling, How can I let you die ?" Oh! hear ye.the white lips whisper— " Be—better—in—mornin'—bye!"