On Seeing a Dead Child.
I saw a sweet and lovely child,
Pale, pale, upon a couch she lay,
Round her were strew'd flow'rs fresh and wild,
And yet she seem'd more fair than they;
Although her brow felt cold and chill,
Her face wore beauty's freshness still.
Pale, pale, upon a couch she lay,
Round her were strew'd flow'rs fresh and wild,
And yet she seem'd more fair than they;
Although her brow felt cold and chill,
Her face wore beauty's freshness still.
It might be thought an angel slept,
Her features seemed so heavenly fair;
The sweet smile that in life she kept,
In cherub softness linger'd there,
And such a life-like radiance shed
O'er the mild features of the dead.
Her features seemed so heavenly fair;
The sweet smile that in life she kept,
In cherub softness linger'd there,
And such a life-like radiance shed
O'er the mild features of the dead.
And can it be, I musing thought,
Whilst gazing on the beauteous clay,
That, ere the blue eye closed, it caught
A glimpse of those who bore away
The soul, and that last smile was given,
To greet the messengers of heaven?
Whilst gazing on the beauteous clay,
That, ere the blue eye closed, it caught
A glimpse of those who bore away
The soul, and that last smile was given,
To greet the messengers of heaven?