Poems (Brown)/The Child's Lament

by Carrie L. Brown

THE CHILD'S LAMENT. 

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As I walked with noiseless footsteps
 Through the village of the dead,
Where the tall grass scarcely rustled
 'Neath the pressure of my tread,
Lying on the cold, damp ground,
 A little form was seen—
A child not more than ten years old.
 O God, what could it mean?

Little arms the tombstone clasped,
 Her lips breathed forth the name,
Weeping eyes were raised to heaven,
 From whence our Saviour came;
Golden curls were crushed in anguish,
 As I see them in my dreams,
When the beauty of the starlight
 Lingers like the morning beams.

She softly raised her eyes to heaven,
 Murmured "Mother," low in tone;
While down her shoulders hung the tresses.
 Which the cold night air had blown.
"Mother! mother! come to Lillie,
 As she lies upon this sod,
Weeping with such heavy anguish,
 While you're resting safe with God.

"Mother! mother! earth is dreary—
 Very dreary, sad, and lone;
Mother! 'tis your Lillie calls you—
 Won't you hear, and then come home?"
Thus she moaned on 'mid her weeping,
 Little fingers clasped in prayer,
While the dews of silent evening
 Rested on her golden hair.

Softly I approached, and raised her
 From the damp and chilly ground,
Told her, in my fondest accents,
 Of that mother, starry-crowned,
Hushed her weeping, anguish, moaning,
 Pushed the curls back from her brow,
Kissed the lips, so dry and trembling,
 Bade her hush her sorrow now.

Told her I had lost a mother,
 And had been alone for years;
Pointed to the low, dark grave-bed,
 That was wet with falling tears;
Pointed to another, distant,
 Where my sister dear was laid;
Said my heart was bowed with sorrow
 When for her that bed was made.

Sad she listened to my story,
 As I smoothed her falling hair,
And then, kneeling softly near me,
 Clasped her dimpled hands in prayer.
Fell from lips low words of praising;
 Trembling words were faintly said.
Then rising from the place I left her—
 Left her with her precious dead.