Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume IX, Issue 461, 14 March 1867, Page 3

Select Poetry.

THE LITTLE EOEE OF WHITE. ersr & TOtiowOOd Cradle & uoiuT IftV : I B Its mother was stitching, stitching away I On a uttie robe or white. vu6 foot on the iocker, she Uopeu to keep Her frolicsome baby fast asleep, I£q iniah Jigy thof nierhk In every stitch of the garment she wrought. That loving mother fastened a thought— Hopes for that little one And smiled on her bahe with a happy pride As It slept lu its cradle by her side TUI that Uttie robe was done. Then she folded up the cambric and lace. And kissed ber little one’s chubby face That smiled in its infont glee. She tossed it up and down in the air, * How pretty you’U look, little babe, when you wear That new little robe,” said she. In a rosewood coffin a baby lay ; Its mother had wept the night away Watching Us dying breath. With it clasped to her breast she had prayed to keep Her darUng baby from going to sleep Xu the cold, cold anas of death. They buried the baba In the garment just wrought. Whose every stitch held a hopeful thought From that loving mother’s sight. On the garble stone she wrote with a tear, *’ How many hopes Ue buried here In that Uttie robe of white 1” In the Saviour’s arms a baby lay. From its rosewood coffin far away. In the realms of love and light. The angels a garment had folded about IU little form, which would never wear out— A seamless robe of white. S. T. P. —The Mother's Friend.