THE MOTHER TO HER DEPARTED CHILD.
I must not weep for thee,
In hopeless agony,
My baby dead!
Away from earthly things,
From sorrow’s deadly stings,
On bright angelic wings,
Thus early fled!
Ere thou hast tasted woe,
’Tis better thou should’st go
To perfect bliss;
My darling—heavenward fled!—
O, shall I hang my head,
And mourn my baby dead,
And weep—for this?
Go, cherub, to thy rest!
Yes—leave thy mother’s breast,
For Jesus’ arms!
Sweet babe! I bid thee go!
Ah, me! too well I know,
To thee I could not show
Such heavenly charms!
My baby! soon I must
Resign thy sleeping dust—
Smiling in death!
What did’st thou, baby, see,
Which made thee smile on me,
When Death stood near to thee,
Stealing thy breath?
A gleam of sweet surprise
Lit up thy languid eyes,
And polish’d brow;
And the same heavenly ray
Around thy lips did play,
As pass’d thy life away,
And ’tis there now!
I never thought that I
Could see my baby die,
Yet feel like this;
Dead—dead—and yet so fair!
No anguish—no despair
Comes o’er me while I dare
Thy lips to kiss!
Those lips that smile in death—
I almost feel the breath,
As once it came,
When, sleeping on my knee,
While burned my love for thee,
Thy breath, so sweet to me,
Did fan the flame!
My beautiful! my own!
Soon will they lay thee down,
Beneath the sod;
Farewell—my baby dear!
O, God! forgive this tear!
Thyself this heart must cheer,
My Father, God!
I’ll thank thee, every day,
That o’er this pale cold clay,
My baby dead!
I’ve felt as now I feel—
Though down the tear drops steal,
Thou dost thy love reveal,
And grief has fled!
Charleston, March 28, 1841.