Poems.
39
ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE GIRL.
The Angel of Death on his mission was sent,
By a high and heavenly power,
Though solemn his errand, 't was a holy intent,
And sadness pervaded the hour.
By a high and heavenly power,
Though solemn his errand, 't was a holy intent,
And sadness pervaded the hour.
He came—and he paused as he bent o'er the form
Of his lovely victim while sleeping,
He lingered a moment, the life-blood warm
Through the sufferer's veins was still creeping;
Of his lovely victim while sleeping,
He lingered a moment, the life-blood warm
Through the sufferer's veins was still creeping;
He breathed on the flower, and the spirit sped
Away from the form that had bound it;
His mission was done—the flower was dead,
And the coldness of death around it.
Away from the form that had bound it;
His mission was done—the flower was dead,
And the coldness of death around it.
THE BENIGHTED WANDERERS.
Loud moaned the wind, 't was a stormy night,
And cold as heart could desire,
As I hastily closed the blinds so tight,
To shut from my view the cheerless sight,
And seated myself at the fire.
And cold as heart could desire,
As I hastily closed the blinds so tight,
To shut from my view the cheerless sight,
And seated myself at the fire.
