Poems for Children Sigourney/Death of the youngest Child

by Lydia Sigourney

Death of the youngest Child.

"Why is our infant sister's eye
    No more with gladness bright?

Her brow of dimpled beauty, why
    So like the marble white?"
My little ones, ye need no more
    To hush the sportive tread,
Or whispering, pass the muffled door,—
    Your sweetest one is dead.

In vain you'll seek her joyous tone
    Of tuneful mirth to hear,
Nor will her suffering, dove-like moan
    Again distress your ear.
Lost to a mother's pillowing breast,
    The snow-wreath marks her bed,
Her polish'd cheek in earth must rest,—
    Your sweetest one is dead.

Returning spring, the birds will call
    Their happy task to take;
Vales, verdant trees, and streamlets, all
    From winter's sleep shall wake,
Again your cherished flowers shall bloom
    Anew their fragrance shed;

But she, the darling, will not come.—
    Your sweetest one is dead.

Ye know that blest Redeemer's name
    Who gaz'd on childhood's charms,
Indulgent heard its gentle claim,
    And clasp'd it in his arms;
To him, your sister babe hath gone,
    Her pains, her tears are o'er,
Safe, near her Heavenly Father's throne,
    She bows to death no more.

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