[Thoughts,]
On the Death of My Grandchild Fanny.
And all wept and bewailed her: but He said, weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth.
—Luke 8:52.
Oh true, “she is not dead, but sleepeth—”
Her dust alone is here;
The spirit pure that Heavenward leapeth,
Hath gone to bliss fore’er.
’Twas but a fragile flower that lent
Its sweets to earth a day;
From Heaven’s parterre ’twas kindly sent,
But ’twas not here to stay.
Weep not, fond mother, that lost one;
’Tis clasped in angel’s arms—
From earth’s dread trials passed and gone,
’Tis decked in seraph’s charms.
See how it beckons thee to come,
And taste its rapture there;—
No longer linger o’er that tomb—
To join it let’s prepare.
[The Decree.]
And the king said, bring me a sword. And they brought a sword before the king. And the king said, divide the living child in two, and give half to the one, and half to the other. Then spake the woman whose the living child was unto the king, for her bowels yearned upon her son, and she said, O my lord give her the living child, and in no wise slay it.
—I Kings 3:24-36.
Hark! did you not hear that loud shriek?
Ah! do you not see that wild eye?
List—do you hear that mother speak
For her son that is doom’d to die?