Fold the snowy cover under,
Where his pulseless form is laid,
Then sit down to sigh and wonder
Why this sudden call was made.
Lay the dimpled hands together
Gently as you bend to weep,
Murmuring oft, in whispers tender,
'Little Georgie's gone to sleep.'

Why, it seems but yester-morning
That his merry laugh rang out
As he passed, and, backward turning,
Answered Josey's joyous shout.
Never once I dreamed, poor mother,
Of the shadow dark and deep
Soon to fold the 'little brother'
In that icy, dreamless sleep.

Josey still keeps watching, waiting,
Both at .morn and twilight gray,
Asking, while their sports relating,
'Why don't Georgie come to play?'
Then I fold my arms about him,
Praying I may hold and keep ;
Saying, 'You must play without him,
Little Georgie is asleep.'

Weeping mother, doting father,
Crushed and bowed by wild despair,
Lift your eyes above the casket,
Naught but dust is prisoned there !
Know that He who took your darling
Will his deathless spirit keep,
Blest and happy with the angels,
Safe till ye are called to sleep.

Then prepare to rise and meet him
When your summons comes to go ;
Wheresoe'er your treasure resteth,
There your spirit-longings flow.
It was kind the pitying Father,
Knowing he to wait must weep,
Took him ere earth's sorrows found him,—
Lulled his precious form to sleep.