THOMAS EDWARD BROWN
1830-1897
790. Dora
She knelt upon her brother's grave,
My little girl of six years old—
He used to be so good and brave,
The sweetest lamb of all our fold;
He used to shout, he used to sing,
Of all our tribe the little king—
And so unto the turf her ear she laid,
To hark if still in that dark place he play'd.
No sound! no sound!
Death's silence was profound;
And horror crept
Into her aching heart, and Dora wept.
If this is as it ought to be,
My God, I leave it unto Thee.
791. Jessie
When Jessie comes with her soft breast,
And yields the golden keys,
Then is it as if God caress'd
Twin babes upon His knees—
Twin babes that, each to other press'd,
Just feel the Father's arms, wherewith they both are bless'd.
But when I think if we must part,
And all this personal dream be fled—
O then my heart! O then my useless heart!
Would God that thou wert dead—
A clod insensible to joys and ills—
A stone remote in some bleak gully of the hills!
