DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN. WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK. YOUNG mother, he is gone! His dimpled cheek no more will touch thy breast; No more the music tone Float from his lips, to thine all fondly pressed; His smile and happy laugh are lost to thee: Earth must his mother and his pillow be. His was the morning hour, And he hath passed in beauty from the day, Torn, in its sweetness, from the parent spray; Never on earth again Will his rich accents charm thy listening ear, Breathing at eventide serene and clear; And from thy yearning heart, Whose inmost core was warm with love for him, 134 DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN. A gladness must depart, And those kind eyes with many tears be dim; Yet, mourner, while the day Rolls like the darkness of a funeral by, To stream athwart the grief-discolored sky, "Tis from the better land! There, bathed in radiance that around them springs, As with the choiring cherubim he sings, Mother, thy child is blessed : And though his presence may be lost to thee, And missed a sweet load from thy parent knee, HYMN FOR AN INFANT'S FUNERAL. REV. LEGH RICHMOND. HARK! how the angels, as they fly, Securely freed from sin's alarms. "Welcome, dear babe, to Jesus' breast, Forever there in joy to rest: Welcome to Jesus' courts above, To sing thy great Redeemer's love! "We left the heavens, and flew to earth, To watch thee at thy mortal birth: Obedient to thy Savior's will, We staid to love and guard thee still. "We, thy protecting angels, came "When the resistless call of death 136 AN ANGEL PRESENCE. "Now, with the lightning's speed, we bear Thus sweetly borne, he flies to rest; We know 'tis well nay, more, 'tis best. AN ANGEL PRESENCE. REV. R. C. WATERSTON. It is noteworthy that children who are taken away by death always remain in the memory of parents as children. Other children grow old, but this one continues in youth. It looks as we last saw it in health. The imagination hears its sweet voice and light step; sees its silken hair and clear bright eyes, all just as they were. Ten and twenty years may go by; the child remains in the memory, as at first, a bright, happy child. Its young and beautiful form moves before us : and what is such a memory but an angel presence? Certainly next to seeing an angel, is seeing with a parent's heart such a cherished form. Amidst this world of ambition and show, who shall say that this is not a means, under Providence, of subduing and spiritualiz ing the mind? Thus, in order to cherish such a remembrance, we are at times willing to turn even from the charms of the living. The sigh becomes sweeter than the song. Sorrow subdued becomes a friend, and sacred joy is mingled with the tears of holy recollection. Thus, as grief ascends the Mount of Time, she seems to pass through a state of transfiguration. The convulsive agony changes to passive sorrow, and querulous misgivings to quiet meditation. There must be distress; let, then, the gushing tears. flow, for it is the course of nature; but, even with this, let there be the victory of the Christian faith, the glorious hope of our holy religion. THOUGHTS WHILE MAKING THE GRAVE OF .A NEW-BORN CHILD. N. P. WILLIS. ROOM, gentle flowers! my child would pass to heaven! |