  To-night a little child lies dead; I never saw its face; I try to fancy now instead Its lines of baby grace. And for the sake of her who weeps These lonely watches through So wakefully my spirit keeps A weary vigil, too. A thousand thoughts appeal to me In close-besieging crowd; But through them all I only see A little, snow-white shroud. Nor may I set dull grief at naught, However I am fain; Since when the heart-strings are distraught, The will must strive in vain. Ah me! there breaks the dawning sun, In golden light serene; Yet still I mourn this little one, Whom I have never seen!
|
|
