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Literary Gazette, 28th April, 1832, Page 266
THE DYING CHILD.
Paraphrased from the German.
"Oh mother, what brings music here?
Now listen to the song—
So soft, so sweet, so beautiful—
The night-winds bear along!"
"My child, I only hear the wind,
As with a mournful sound
It wanders mid the old oak trees,
And strews their leaves around."
And dimmer grew his heavy eyes,
His face more deadly fair,
And down dropped from his infant hand
His book of infant prayer.
"I know it now, my mother dear,
That song for me is given;
It is the angels’ choral hymn
That welcomes me to heaven."
