Page:Records of Woman.pdf/220

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And in her still, clear, matron face, All solemnly serene, A shadow'd image I could trace Of that young slumberer's mien.

"Stranger! thou pitiest me," she said, With lips that faintly smiled, "As here I watch beside my dead,   My fair and precious child.

"But know, the time-worn heart may be   By pangs in this world riven, Keener than theirs who yield, like me,    An angel thus to Heaven!"