From the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO ONE IN AFFLICTION.
By John R. Thompson.
Dear friend! if word of mine could seal
The bitter fount of all thy tears,
And, through the future's cloudy years,
Some glimpse of sunshine yet reveal—
That word I might not dare to speak:
A father's sorrow o'er his child
So sacred seems and undefiled,
To bid it cease we may not seek.
Thy little boy has passed away
From mortal sight and mortal love,
To join the shining choir above
And dwell amid the perfect day;
All robed in spotless innocence,
And fittest for celestial things,
O'ershadowed by her rustling wings
The angel softly led him hence:
As pure as if the gentle rain
Of his baptismal morn had sought
His bosom's depths, and e'ery thought
Had sweetly cleansed from earthly stain:
Such blest assurance brings, I know,
To bleeding hearts but sad relief—
The dark and troubled tide of grief
Must have its ebb and flow—