118
Poems.
The bird is free,
Unchained it flies,
With its broken heart,
To its native skies.
Unchained it flies,
With its broken heart,
To its native skies.
Exhaled from earth,
She seeks above,
The perfect bliss
Of endless love.
She seeks above,
The perfect bliss
Of endless love.
THE DYING BABE.
'T was evening, and the sun had gone,
Far down the western sky,
The stars came twinkling one by one,
Forth from their realms on high.
Far down the western sky,
The stars came twinkling one by one,
Forth from their realms on high.
When by her dying infant's bed,
A mother knelt in prayer;
Imploring the Almighty Power,
Her little flower to spare.
A mother knelt in prayer;
Imploring the Almighty Power,
Her little flower to spare.
She gazed upon the sufferer's face,
Her hopes again beat high;
For sleep o'erpowered its little frame,
She thought it could not die.
Her hopes again beat high;
For sleep o'erpowered its little frame,
She thought it could not die.
