16
poems.
"SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME."
List to the Master's gracious voice,Which bids the sorrowing heart rejoice,Even though the tomb's dark portals closeAbove the slumbering form's repose:Angels their holy vigils keepAround its calm, unearthly sleep.
Come ye around her couch to bend:Faith can its quickening influence lend.Look on the form reposing there,In death so beautifully fair.Pure temple for the immortal guest,Meet type of heaven's all-perfect rest.
What though your tears as dew be shedAround the loved, the early dead?What though no more that speaking eyeTo greet your answering gaze be nigh?What though the gay, glad spring-note beAs a hushed strain of memory?
Has she not met, in yon bright sphere,Those vanished ones, to love so dear?Was not the Saviour's blessing shedAs incense o'er the infant head?"To me their sinless souls be given:Of such the kingdom is of heaven."
