Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/109

 While heavenliest ardour warms With emulation every breast! All will be first to hold, To lull the frightened babes to rest In their maternal fold! There leaned both sire and mother lost, Dawning on the dim gaze; And many sealed in death's deep frost, Fathers of former days, Thronged all the approaches of God's throne, While Christ arose above, Smiling a welcome to His own Babe brethren of His love. … Yet ah! the hideous prospect whirls; Death-slumber seems profound; With ghastly gleams the river swirls Blindly above the drowned! … Nay, but the children are awake, Although we hear them not; Our dear ones their sweet prattle make In some fair, far cot. I deem our life is a red flame Of purgatorial fire; And Death, God's calm white angel, came From the Eternal Sire, To lay cool hands before their eyes, Shadowing from the glare, And in profound tranquillities