Poems (Charlotte Allen)/On the Death of a little Girl
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.
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;
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.