Hope wipes the tear from sorrow's eye,
And faith points upward to the sky.
584. C. M. Steele.
Death of a Child.
1Life is a span,--a fleeting hour:
How soon the vapor flies!
Man is a tender, transient flower,
That e'en in blooming dies.
2The once-loved form, now cold and dead,
Each mournful thought employs;