Poems (Charlotte Allen)/The Dying Babe

by Charlotte Allen

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.

When by her dying infant's bed,
 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.

The night passed on, the parent sat,
 Her watchful vigils keeping;
Till worn with ceaseless, anxious care,
 The morning found her sleeping.

She dreamed her infant had revived,
 That Heaven had heard her prayer;
She woke—looked on its features, but—
 The spirit was not there.