| |
| SLEEP, little Baby! sleep! | |
| Not in thy cradle bed, | |
| Not on thy mother’s breast | |
| Henceforth shall be thy rest, | |
| But with the quiet dead. | 5 |
| |
| Yes, with the quiet dead, | |
| Baby! thy rest shall be— | |
| Oh! many a weary wight, | |
| Weary of life and light, | |
| Would fain lie down with thee! | 10 |
| |
| Flee, little tender nursling! | |
| Flee to thy grassy nest— | |
| There the first flowers shall blow, | |
| The first pure flake of snow | |
| Shall fall upon thy breast. | 15 |
| |
| Peace! peace! the little bosom | |
| Labours with shortening breath. | |
| Peace! peace! that tremulous sigh | |
| Speaks his departure nigh— | |
| Those are the damps of Death. | 20 |
| |
| I’ve seen thee in thy beauty, | |
| A thing all health and glee; | |
| But never then wert thou | |
| So beautiful, as now, | |
| Baby! thou seem’st to me. | 25 |
| |
| Thine upturned eyes glazed over | |
| Like harebells wet with dew— | |
| Already veiled and hid | |
| By the convulsèd lid, | |
| Their pupils darkly blue. | 30 |
| |
| Thy little mouth half open, | |
| Thy soft lip quivering, | |
| As if, like summer air, | |
| Ruffling the rose leaves, there | |
| Thy soul were fluttering. | 35 |
| |
| Mount up, immortal essence! | |
| Young spirit! hence—depart! | |
| And is this Death?—Dread thing! | |
| If such thy visiting, | |
| How beautiful thou art! | 40 |
| |
| Oh! I could gaze for ever | |
| Upon that waxen face, | |
| So passionless! so pure! | |
| The little shrine was sure | |
| An angel’s dwelling-place. | 45 |
| |
| Thou weepest, childless Mother! | |
| Ay, weep—’twill ease thine heart; | |
| He was thy first-born son— | |
| Thy first, thine only one; | |
| ’Tis hard from him to part. | 50 |
| |
| ’Tis hard to lay thy darling | |
| Deep in the damp cold earth, | |
| His empty crib to see, | |
| His silent nursery, | |
| Late ringing with his mirth. | 55 |
| |
| To meet again in slumber | |
| His small mouth’s rosy kiss, | |
| Then—waken’d with a start | |
| By thine own throbbing heart— | |
| His twining arms to miss. | 60 |
| |
| And then to lie and weep, | |
| And think the live-long night— | |
| Feeding thine own distress | |
| With accurate greediness— | |
| Of every past delight; | 65 |
| |
| Of all his winning ways, | |
| His pretty, playful smiles, | |
| His joy at sight of thee, | |
| His tricks, his mimicry, | |
| And all his little wiles. | 70 |
| |
| Oh! these are recollections | |
| Round mothers’ hearts that cling! | |
| That mingle with the tears | |
| And smiles of after years, | |
| With oft awakening. | 75 |
| |
| But thou wilt then, fond Mother, | |
| In after years look back— | |
| Time brings such wondrous easing— | |
| With sadness not unpleasing, | |
| Even on this gloomy track. | 80 |
| |
| Thou’lt say, “My first-born blessing! | |
| It almost broke my heart, | |
| When thou wert forced to go; | |
| And yet for thee, I know, | |
| ’Twas better to depart. | 85 |
| |
| “God took thee in His mercy, | |
| A lamb untask’d—untried— | |
| He fought the fight for thee, | |
| He won the victory— | |
| And thou art sanctified. | 90 |
| |
| “I look around, and see | |
| The evil ways of men, | |
| And oh, belovèd child! | |
| I’m more than reconciled | |
| To thy departure then. | 95 |
| |
| “The little arms that clasp’d me, | |
| The innocent lips that prest— | |
| Would they have been as pure | |
| ’Till now, as when of yore | |
| I lull’d thee on my breast? | 100 |
| |
| “Now, like a dew-drop shrined | |
| Within a crystal stone, | |
| Thou’rt safe in Heaven, my dove: | |
| Safe with the Source of Love, | |
| The Everlasting One! | 105 |
| |
| “And when the hour arrives, | |
| From flesh that sets me free, | |
| Thy spirit may await, | |
| The first at Heaven’s gate, | |
| To meet and welcome me.” | 110 |
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