Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/104

 Until it yield, and mellow Bloom to a sweet song. They, knowing our mortal fever Soon will pass away, Through long nights of sorrow Calm await the Day. Asleep they lead the lambkins To meadows of sweet dream, In gentle arms they bear them By many a cooling stream; Where the sunbeams cherish White and yellow flowers, They may sail on silver Among fairy bowers, Losing all the terror Of our waking world, Sails of their frail shallop In flowery havens furled.

A poor boy rides the pony So wistfully admired, While a poor maiden nurses The doll richly attired; They feel no more so tired! Pains and griefs no longer Vex the innocent breast, Now dear angels lull them Into such deep rest!