THE INFANT'S GRAVE[1]
Dark and gloomy is the night,
Not a star rays forth its light;
But no light I need to show
Where my little one's laid low:
Blindfold I can thread my way—
Tears may blind but do not stay:
Straight as arrow from a bow
To thy resting-place I go.
Little angel pure as light
From the farthest star of night!
Only treasure of my heart,
Sole joy in which I claimed a part!
Darling whose bright presence made
All my care and sorrow fade,
And in a web of gloom enwrought
Threads of bright and happy thought!
Of all other comforts reft
Thou alone to me wert left;
Joy was mine embracing thee,
Thou wert all in all to me!
- ↑ This poem was suggested by a newspaper paragraph, which told the story of the discovery of the dead body of a mother upon the grave of her child.
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