SELECT POETRY.

Southland Times, Issue 639, 4 March 1867, Page 3

SELECT POETRY.

ON PHE PICTURE OF A DEAD CHILD. » Calm in thy placid sleep The snowy eyelids close, The long dark lashes sweep The young checks faded rose j The little hand is on the cushion prest, The dimpled arm lies lightly on the breast. Comes there no dreamy smile — No half-awakening sigh. To part the lips awhile. And call tny mother nigh To clasp the little hand within her own, Lest thou Bhould'st wake, and find thyself alone ? Comes there no quick breath ? Is the dread struggle past ? Fair thing ! Can this be death, And have we press'd our last, Last fervent kiss upon that mouth so still That brow, like sculptured marble, pure and still ? Yes, it is. even so! And thou art now of those Who hear the stream's sweet flow, And pluck the thornless rose, With angels in their starry, bright abode Their home and thine, — the Paradise of God ? Thy silence seems to say — " I am so tired now ; The long and weary day Has passid so sad and slow. Let me sleep on. Sweet voices whisper — " Come Come to the Spirit-land, — come home! come home!" "I see a glorious band, Most radiantly bright, And many children stand White-robed, and crowned with light j— They call to me — they beckon me I know ; Unfold thine arms, dear mother, — let me go. " And when I wear my wings An angel I shall be ; And when the violet springs I will come back to thee. Thou wilt not see me thenV my mother dear. But thou wilt feel thy child is watching near." And now we stand and gaze, And almost think to catch Thine opening eyes' first rays j Thy mother seems to watch, As when, in days gone by, she fondly press'd A living child to her warm loving breast. We have known many a woe ; Many a tear we've shed Since thou didst early go To join the quiet Dead, j Thy rest is won ! We could not wish again That thou should'st mingle with life's grief and pain. Perchance in. hours of gloom, . Inaudible, unsesn, In the dim silent room Thy visitings have been ! Smiling to think how sweet the time will be, When all thou lov*st from sorrow shall be free. We thank Thee, Oh, our God, That Thou hast taken home Our child to Thine abode, From evil days to come. A little while, — and on the eternal shore Her smile shall greet us— fading nevermore !