IN FRENCH FIELDS.
215
Sonnet.—THE TW0 PROCESSIONS.
Two processions met on consecrated sod,
One was sad,—it followed the bier of a child,
A woman was there, whose sobs bursting wild
Attested a heart crushed under the rod;
The other was gay,—a mother who trod
Triumphant, friends, and a babe undefiled
(Who sucked at her breast, prattled nonsense, and smiled),
To be sealed with the seal that marks us of God.
The service done, the gatherings crossed each other,
And then prayer's mighty work was seen achieved,
The women barely glanced at one another,
But oh, the change in both the glad and grieved!
One wept by the bier,—'twas the joyful young mother,
And one smiled at the babe,—'twas the mother bereaved.
