POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2204, 19 March 1881, Page 3

POETRY.

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

And she lay with a flower in one hand and her thin hands crossed on her brew Wan, but as pretty as heart can desire, ana we thought her at rest, Quietly sleeping—so quiet, our doctor said, “ Poor little dear, Nurse, I must do it to-morrow; she 11 never live through it, I fear.” I walked with our kindly old doctor as fas os the head of the stair, Then I returned to the ward ; the child didn t see I was there. , Never since I was nurse had I been so grieved and so vext! , , „ , Emmie had heard him. Boftly she called from her cot to the next: . “He says I shall never live through it. O Annie, what shall X do f” . Annie considered. “If I,' said the wise h tie Annie, “ was you, . , , I should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to help mo. for, Emmie, you see, It’s all in the picture there : " Little children should come to mo.” _ , (Meaning the print that you gave us ; I hnd that it always can please Our children—the dear Lord Jesus with

children about his knees.) “Yes, and I will,” said Emmie, “but then, if I call to the Lord, ’ , How should ho know that it s mo . such a lot

of beds in the ward !” That was a puzzler to Annie. Again she considered and said : “ Emmie, yon put out your arms, and leave ’em outside on the bad— The Lord has so much to see to! but, Emmie, you tell it him plain, It’s the little girl with her arms lying out on the counterpane.” I had sat three nights by the child —I conld not watch her for four— My brain had begun to reel—l felt I could do it no more. That was my sleeping night, but I thought

that it never would pass. There was a thunder-clap once, and a clatter

of hail on the glass ; And there was a phantom-ory, that I heard as I tossed about. The motherless bleat of a lamb, in tho storm

and the darkness without. My sleep was broken besides with dreams of the dreadful knife, And fears for our delicate Emmie, who scarce

would escape with her life. Then in the gray of the morning, it seemed she stood by me and smiled, And the doctor came at hia hour, and we went to see the child.

He had brought his ghastly tools : wo believed her asleep again— Her dear, long, lean, little arms lying out on the counterpane ; Say that His day is done! Ah, why should we care what they say ? The Lord of the children had heard her, and Emmie had passed away. Tbnhybon.