She was, he said, a fair and lovely child But her more common mood of mind was one Thoughtful beyond her early age, for she In ten brief years her little course had run,Many more brief have known, but brighter surely none. Though some might deem her pensive, if not sad, Yet those who knew her better, best could tell How calmly happy, and how meekly glad Her quiet heart in its own depths did dwell: Like to the waters in some crystal well, In which the stars of heaven at noon are seen, Fancy might deem on her young spirit fell Glimpses of light more glorious and serene Than that of life's brief day, so heavenly was her mien. But though no boisterous playmate, her fond smile Had sweetness in it passing that of mirth; Loving and kind, her thoughts, words, deeds, the while Betrayed of childish sympathies no dearth: She loved the wild flowers scattered over earth, In groves impervious to the noontide ray ;All these she loved as much as those who seemed more gay. Yet more she loved the word, the smile, the look, Of those who reared her with religious care; With fearful joy she conned that holy book, At whose unfolded page full many a prayer, In which her weal immortal had its share, Recurred to memory; for she had been trained, Young as she was, her early cross to bear; And taught to love with fervency unfeigned, The record of His life whose death salvation gained. I dare not linger, like my ancient friend, Was long with fond prolixity delayed; That one so ripe for heaven would early fade In this brief state of trouble and unrest; Yet only wither here to bloom in life more blest? My theme is one of joy, and not of grief; Fading and sinking to its parent clay : His radiance brightening at his journey's close, Yet with that chastened, soft, and gentle ray In which no dazzling splendour fiercely glows, But on whose mellowed light our eyes with joy repose. Her strength was failing, but it seemed to sink So calmly, tenderly, it woke no fear; 'T was like a rippling wave on ocean's brink, Which breaks in dying music on the ear, And placid beauty on the eye: no tear Except of quiet joy in hers was known, Though some there were around her justly dear, Her love for whom in every look was shown, Yet more and more she sought and loved to be alone. One summer morn they missed her she had been As usual to the garden arbour brought, After their matin meal; her placid mien Had worn no seeming shade of graver thought, C Her voice, her smile, with cheerfulness were fraught, And she was left amid that peaceful scene A little space; but when she there was sought, In her secluded oratory green, Their arbour's sweetest flower had left its leafy screen! They found her in her chamber, by the bed Whence she had risen, and on the bedside chair, Before her, was an open Bible spread; Herself upon her knees. With tender care They stole on her devotions, when the air Of her meek countenance the truth made known: The child had died! died in the act of prayer! And her pure spirit, without sigh or groan, To heaven and endless joy from earth and grief had flown. SONNET. EMILY TAYLOR. MOTHER, revere God's image in thy child! Gaze on that form of perishable mould; To watch the dawnings of the future heaven, And to be such in purity and love As best may win it to that life above! |