Page:Poems Brown.djvu/100

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94
poems.
THE CHILD'S LAMENT.
As I walked with noiseless footsteps
Through the village of the dead,
Where the tall grass scarcely rustled
'Neath the pressure of my tread,
Lying on the cold, damp ground,
A little form was seen—
A child not more than ten years old.
O God, what could it mean?

Little arms the tombstone clasped,
Her lips breathed forth the name,
Weeping eyes were raised to heaven,
From whence our Saviour came;
Golden curls were crushed in anguish,
As I see them in my dreams,
When the beauty of the starlight
Lingers like the morning beams.

She softly raised her eyes to heaven,
Murmured "Mother," low in tone;