84
A LITTLE CHILD'S MONUMENT.
"Dear Love, perchance, may not be dead,
Only sleeping," some one said.
Ah! death is very beautiful,
Solemn, pure, and calm,
As in a shadowy cloister cool,
A holy chanted psalm,
After some fierce battle-cry
In the windy glare hard by,
Singing, "We are saved from evil,
From the wandering waves' upheaval,
Folded far from very death,
Wherein the spirit withereth."
