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And infant smiles, and woman's tenderness—
All such as breathe of rapture and of heaven,
Float round those sleeping heads—they rest in death,
But they are shrined in immortality—
They rest as buds to blossom for the skies,
Whose opening fragrance, even now, may shed
Its perfume on the purple clouds above,
And bear the incense of unbroken hearts
Up to the throne of God!—Sleep, lovely ones;
Ye shall not hear of pain, and strife, and crime,
The mournful records of humanity;
Ye shall not weep upon a loved one's grave;
And disappointed love shall never blight
The young hope of your bosoms, nor your ear
Be vexed with deeds of cruelty and wrong.
Ye did not know the world; ah that ye knew
Of innocent, and fair, and beautiful,
Is realised in heaven. O had ye lived,
How often had those gentle cheeks turned pale
At mortal suffering, and those soft eyes poured
The living stream: how often had your hearts
Been sick at scenes of human wretchedness,
And, pilgrim-like,looked weary, from the path
Of toils and thorns, to the untroubled tomb.
Now hath God gathered ye; the Eternal Shepherd
Hath called ye in your infant helplessness,
All such as breathe of rapture and of heaven,
Float round those sleeping heads—they rest in death,
But they are shrined in immortality—
They rest as buds to blossom for the skies,
Whose opening fragrance, even now, may shed
Its perfume on the purple clouds above,
And bear the incense of unbroken hearts
Up to the throne of God!—Sleep, lovely ones;
Ye shall not hear of pain, and strife, and crime,
The mournful records of humanity;
Ye shall not weep upon a loved one's grave;
And disappointed love shall never blight
The young hope of your bosoms, nor your ear
Be vexed with deeds of cruelty and wrong.
Ye did not know the world; ah that ye knew
Of innocent, and fair, and beautiful,
Is realised in heaven. O had ye lived,
How often had those gentle cheeks turned pale
At mortal suffering, and those soft eyes poured
The living stream: how often had your hearts
Been sick at scenes of human wretchedness,
And, pilgrim-like,looked weary, from the path
Of toils and thorns, to the untroubled tomb.
Now hath God gathered ye; the Eternal Shepherd
Hath called ye in your infant helplessness,
