Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/109

While heavenliest ardour warms
With emulation every breast!
All will be first to hold,
To lull the frightened babes to rest
In their maternal fold!
There leaned both sire and mother lost,
Dawning on the dim gaze;
And many sealed in death's deep frost,
Fathers of former days,
Thronged all the approaches of God's throne,
While Christ arose above,
Smiling a welcome to His own
Babe brethren of His love.
… Yet ah! the hideous prospect whirls;
Death-slumber seems profound;
With ghastly gleams the river swirls
Blindly above the drowned!
… Nay, but the children are awake,
Although we hear them not;
Our dear ones their sweet prattle make
In some fair, far cot.
I deem our life is a red flame
Of purgatorial fire;
And Death, God's calm white angel, came
From the Eternal Sire,
To lay cool hands before their eyes,
Shadowing from the glare,
And in profound tranquillities