Select Poetry.
TO A FRIEND.
Thy weary eyes are weeping
Sad tears, and silently Thy heavy heart is keeping
Great sorrow hid away, And, questioning, would say— Ah, is it well that she is gone from me ?
Think of her not as lying
In a dark lonely tomb; O mother, cease thy sighing;
In a far better home, Where thou, too, soon shalt go, Mother, thy child is an angel now. Thy little loved one given
To be on earth awhile Is still thine own in heaven;
Though, by His holy will, The form is laid away, Yet loving arms unseen are clasping thee.
With seraph beauty lending Its radiance to her brow, Thy angel-child in bending Above thee even now; She whispers, care and strife May not come here—which, is the better life.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/THS18821202.2.2
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Thames Star, Volume XIII, Issue 4344, 2 December 1882, Page 1
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134Select Poetry. Thames Star, Volume XIII, Issue 4344, 2 December 1882, Page 1
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