Death, death, amidst the beautiful, the gentle, and the meek,
Oh, Mother hush thine agony above that infant's sleep,
Nor gaze so wildly on that brow the smile hath scarcely left,
Calm thee, and bless the Hand that gave, -- the Will that hath bereft.

Yes -- in the eyes submissive raised amidst conflicting tears,
The truthfulness that never fail'd through long and painful years,
The hands entwined, the pallid lips that move in silent prayer,
Thine heart, sad Mother, tried by Heaven, still rests unfalt'ring there.

That child, how passively he lies, so lovely and serene,
More like a marble semblance than a form where breath hath been,
It seems as though some Angel's voice had lull'd him to repose,
And with a dream of Paradise that young life met its close.

The Last Born too, that little One! the weakliest of the fold!
No marvel that his birthright was a wealth of love untold;
That she now mourning heavily, would fain have died to save
The tendril of her household stem, from darkness and the grave!

So winsome in his artlessness, such sunshine in his joy,
Earth seem'd to welcome with a smile the presence of the boy;
And all was bright; -- one moment more the dream had pass'd away,
--'Twas well that he should seek a home unsullied by decay.

Why marvel that the flower should fade, with no congenial sky,
To bring its budding glory forth, or warm its summer dye,
That sweet birds droop, when wintry winds despoil them of their nest,
Oh, where but in a shadeless land shall innocence find rest!

And blessed are the memories they leave upon the heart!
They wither not, but grow with age, and tenderness impart;
They soothe us when affliction steals upon our gentler mood,
And sanctify with hopeful thoughts our days of solitude.

Let the young sleeper rest in peace! the spirit is with Him
Who call'd him hence before one tear those eyes of blue could dim;
Let him depart, 'twere meetliest thus, while pure and undefiled,
And in the better land above, oh Mother, seek thy child!