Page:Twilight Hours (1868).djvu/289

Rh How can you tell what grace With a young thing dies ? What the world may lose while the doctors choose Which way the danger lies ? Slowly, with heavy feet, Do the great ones go ; While they try the right, and obey dull might, Doing not what they know. Pitiful, human, sweet, Oh little children's eyes ! With the marks of weeping, and lack of sleeping — Woe for us when ye rise.