Littell's Living Age/Volume 139/Issue 1802/"Baby's Dead"


Just a whisper from the skies,
In the hush of midnight dreary,
Clasped with peace the aching eyes.
Bore their little sufferer weary
Home, to rest in heaven's sweet morrow;
While far round our footsteps spread
Depths of wild unwavering sorrow,
Baby's dead!

Still around that brow so fair
More than earthly beauty lingers;
Gently smoothe the falling hair,
Fold the tiny frozen fingers;
Twine the curls so proudly tended,
In a halo round his head;
Pride and hope alike are ended,
Baby's dead!

Lonely to the hopeless tomb,
Darling child! how shall we yield thee?
From its drear corroding gloom
Love would freely die to shield thee.
Can we bear that dust should gather
Round our darling's golden head?
Spare the bitter cup, O Father,
Baby's dead!

Dead! and light is quenched in tears;
Hopes that blossomed but to wither,
Sunny dreams of after years,
Lost in death's cold gulf forever.
Sun and moon and stars are smitten
With despair's dark night o'erspread;
Round the universe is written,
Baby's dead!

Darling, from your slumbers deep,
Mother calls, — will you not waken?
In that lone, mysterious sleep,
Do you dream of hearts forsaken?
Safe where joys ne'er droop and languish,
Are you watching overhead?
Oh, the passion of the anguish,
Baby's dead!

Peace, at last, may hush the strife,
Where no mists of parting sever,
We may greet thee crowned with life,
Clasp thee in our love forever.
But to-night, bereft and lonely,
Yearn we for our treasure fled,
While weird echoes answer only,
Baby's dead!

Sunday Magazine.Mary Rowles.