["DEAR LITTLE MAC."][D]
(A FACT.)
When nearly eight years old, dear little Mac
Was called from out his happy home-life here
To that blest sphere
Beyond earth's dearest power to call him back.
"His questions wise will now sure answer find,"
Said one who'd loved to watch his eager face,
In happy chase
Of many a thought which flitted through his mind.
"Yes, he knows more than we," another said,
"Instead of guiding him, he'll be our guide
To where abide
The things we need most to be comforted."
While thus the older ones their comfort sought,
Two of the children paused in midst of play,
To have their say
Concerning this great mystery Death had brought.
"Dear little Mac," said Miriam, with a sigh,
"He's gone way up to heaven where angels are,
Way up so far
That we can't ever see him till we die."
"He's not up there," said Bertram. "He can't be.
I saw them put him in the cold dark ground,
And I went round
And threw some flowers in for him to see."
"He isn't there," replied the four-year old,
"He's up in heaven. My mamma told me so.
He is, I know.
He isn't in the ground all dark and cold."
A moment Bertram sat absorbed in thought,
While Miriam felt the joy of victory.
Then suddenly
The lovely six-year-old this idea caught: