Yes-with the quiet dead,
Baby, thy rest shall be ;
Oh! many a weary wight
Weary of life and light,

Would fain lie down with thee.

Flee, little tender nursling,

Flee to thy grassy nest;
There the first flowers shall blow,
The first pure flake of snow,
Shall fall upon thy breast.

Peace! Peace! the little bosom

Labours with shortening breath; Peace! Peace! that tremulous sigh, Speaks his departure nigh;

Those are the damps of death.

I've seen thee in thy beauty,

A thing all health and glee,
But never then wert thou
So beautiful as now,
Baby, thou seem'st to me.

Thine upturned eyes glazed over,
Like harebells wet with dew, t

Already veiled and hid,

By the convulsed lid,
Their pupils dark and blue.

Thy little mouth half open,
Thy soft lips quivering,
As if (like summer air
Ruffling the rose leaves) there,
Thy soul were fluttering.

Mount up,

immortal essence!

Young spirit! haste, depart! And is this death? Dread thing!

If such thy visiting,

How beautiful thou art!

Oh! I could gaze for ever
Upon that waxen face :
So passionless! so' pure!
The little shrine was sure
An Angel's dwelling place.

Thou weepest, childless mother!
Aye weep,-'twill ease thine heart!

He was thy first born son,
Thy first, thy only one,
'Tis hard from him to part!

His joy at sight of thee,
His tricks, his mimicry,

And all his little wiles!

Oh! these are recollections

Round mothers' hearts that cling,

That mingle with the tears

And smiles of after years,
With oft awakening.

But thou wilt then, fond mother,
In after years look back,

(Time brings such wonderous easing,) With sadness not unpleasing,

E'en on this gloomy track.

Thou'lt say, 'My first born blessing!
It almost broke my heart,
When thou wert forced to go;
And yet, for thee I know,'
"Twas better to depart.

• God took thee in his mercy,
A lamb untasked, untried,
He fought the fight for thee,
He won the victory!

And thou art sanctified!

'I look around and see

The evil ways of men, And Oh! beloved child! I'm more than reconciled To thy departure then.

The little arms that clasped me, The innocent lips that pressed, Would they have been as pure Till now, as when of yore

I lulled thee on my breast?

Now. (like a dew drop shrined Within a crystal stone,) Thou'rt safe in heaven my dove! Safe with the source of Love! The everlasting One.

And when the hour arrives,
From life that sets me free;

Thy spirit may await,

The first at heaven's gate,

To meet and welcome me.

Anon.