THE LITTLE SHROUD.
289
One eve a light shone round her bed,
And there she saw him stand—
Her infant, in his little shroud,
A taper in his hand.
"Lo! mother, see my shroud is dry,
And I can sleep once more!"
And beautiful the parting smile
The little infant wore.
And down within the silent grave
He laid his weary head;
And soon the early violets
Grew o'er his grassy bed.
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