Page:Poems for Children Sigourney 1836.pdf/77

  But she, the darling, will not come.— Your sweetest one is dead.

Ye know that blest Redeemer's name Who gaz'd on childhood's charms, Indulgent heard its gentle claim, And clasp'd it in his arms; To him, your sister babe hath gone, Her pains, her tears are o'er, Safe, near her Heavenly Father's throne, She bows to death no more.

 

As crushed by sudden storms the rose Sinks on the garden's breast, Down to the grave our brother goes In earth's cold arms to rest. 