Death came and touched with icy hand my babe,
And changed its living loveliness to sleep;
Changed into marble white the restless limbs,
And hid the violet eyes in drifts of snow;
Gathered the roses from the dimpled cheeks;
But where they bloomed he left a pale rose-leaf,
In token that my darling did but sleep.
An me! the sleep that never breaks on earth.
He wreathed a smile about the lips, and framed
In rings of burnished gold the snowy brow;
Then bade us bring the fairest buds in bloom,
White stars of Bethlehem, gleaming fresh with dew,
And strew them o'er my sleeping angel-babe,
In memory of the Heavenly Child of yore.
Then raised it, wrapped it in his sable robe,
And took it home to God.
