18
Little Luna.
Yet mourn we not, dear sister,
As those of hope bereft,
Nor would we vainly call thee back
To us in sorrow left—
But trusting that our Father's love
All knowledge doth excel,
We wait His time to follow thee,
In deathless life to dwell.
As those of hope bereft,
Nor would we vainly call thee back
To us in sorrow left—
But trusting that our Father's love
All knowledge doth excel,
We wait His time to follow thee,
In deathless life to dwell.
LITTLE LUNA.
GONE from our sight the blushing flowers,
Which sweet rejoicing summer woke,
For one short day to grace our bowers,
Ere chilled by cruel winter's stroke—
So from our sight, 'mid anguish deep,
Her form has vanished, ah, how soon!
The darling child who fell asleep
Beneath the sunny skies of June.
Which sweet rejoicing summer woke,
For one short day to grace our bowers,
Ere chilled by cruel winter's stroke—
So from our sight, 'mid anguish deep,
Her form has vanished, ah, how soon!
The darling child who fell asleep
Beneath the sunny skies of June.
Silent the warbling, full and clear,
Of song-birds borne on every breeze,
Which filled the flower-scented air
With spring's enchanted melodies—
But deeper, sadder silence reigns
Where her young voice, perchance too dear,
Has ceased for aye its gladdening strains,
Leaving but mocking echoes here.
Of song-birds borne on every breeze,
Which filled the flower-scented air
With spring's enchanted melodies—
But deeper, sadder silence reigns
Where her young voice, perchance too dear,
Has ceased for aye its gladdening strains,
Leaving but mocking echoes here.
