My Lily! oh, my Lily!
I saw thee hour by hour,
Still drooping nearer to the earth,
My pale and precious flower!
And as I mark'd the glazing eye,
And felt the cheek grow cold,
The mingled thoughts that fill'd my heart,
They never can be told!
'Twas in thy mother's arms, my own,
Thou didst resign thy breath;
And she will bless her God for that,
Till she too sinks in death!
Oh! tenderly indeed, my babe,
The Saviour dealt with us,
When He, in pitying love, disarm'd
The king of terrors thus.
One long-drawn sigh thy mother heard
From thy unconscious breast,
And then she saw thy eyelids close,
And knew thou wert at rest.
She press'd her lips upon thy cheek
How icy cold it felt!
And turning from thy chamber then,
She went apart, and knelt.
And often, often, ere it came,
That last sad, solemn day,
Beside thy cradle coffin she
Would sit, and gaze, and pray;
And never, never from her heart
Can thy sweet image fade,
So pure, so white, so still, so cold,
As if of marble made.
And when at length the day was come-
The solemn parting day,
That saw thee from thy earthly home,
My loved one, borne away;
Still, still my God was with me!
And I was not seen to weep,
When they laid thee in the quiet tomb,
Where thy father's kindred sleep.
And years have pass'd away since then,
And many a joy and care
Have fill'd by turns thy mother's heart,
In which thou hadst no share ;
But still within that heart she keeps
One sacred spot for thee;
And thine, my Lily, thine alone,
That spot shall ever be !
And often when I kneel in prayer,
I thank my Saviour yet,
For all His tender love to thee,
Which I can ne'er forget.
And when I pray for those I love,
Still left on earth with me,
I ask my God to deal with them
As gently as with thee!
The Flower and the Child.
A FLOWER-BUD in a garden grew,
Besprinkled o'er with morning dew ;
Like lily it was fair and white,
The gardener's glory and delight.
And long he hoped it bright would bloom,
And shed around a sweet perfume;
But lest the cold and blighting gale,
And sweeping storm, should it assail,
He took it to a shelter'd plot,
A sunny, warm, and lovely spot,
Where no rude hand would it annoy,
Or nipping blast its bloom destroy.
I heard a mother sad complain,
For lovely child untimely ta'en,
Who was her bosom's treasured pride,
Reft like a blossom from her side,
And taken like the gardener's flower
To shine within a heavenly bower.
'Alas!' she cried, 'how dark and drear
All, all I prized before appear,
Since he, my fair and beauteous boy,
Earth's richest blessing, and my joy,
Lies in the grave, unseen and cold,
Whom never more I will behold!
'This makes my eyes with tear-drops run :
Alas! alas! my son, my son'
But why indulge this storm of grief?
Seek, and thou'lt find at last relief.
Transplanted from this stormy scene,
Thy child reclines in pastures green,
Where pure and living waters flow.
Then check, oh check these bursts of woe,
And think that when life's troubles end,
Thou wilt thy darling meet again,
And praise thy EVERLASTING FRIEND
In an unending holy strain !
The Reaper and the Flowers.
THERE is a reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
'Shall I have nought that is fair?' saith he; 'Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.'
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kiss'd their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
'My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,' The reaper said, and smiled; 'Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where He was once a child.
'They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care;
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.'
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
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