Poems (Chitwood)/Little Lena Gray

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

LITTLE LENA GRAY.

What time to her azure pillow
 Went the sunny day,
Closed her blue eyes, like a blossom,
 Little Lena Gray;
In her nest the gentle robin
 Slept beneath the eaves;
And the mournful winds were crying
 In the locust leaves.

Softly, through the open lattice,
 Fell the waning light,
Crowning all the golden tresses
 On that brow of white;
O'er the rose-leaf lips a smiling
 Still in sweetness lay,
Shadow of an angel's whisper—
 Little Lena Gray.

Spring is here, and birds are singing,
 All the sunny hours,
And her little grave is dotted
 With the fairest flowers;
But the mother's hand, at even,
 Parts the blooms away,
Reading oft upon the headstone—
 Little Lena Gray.

In the Resurrection morning,
 When the dead arise,
And the Saviour comes in glory,
 Through the trembling skies,—
Lamb-like, on his loving boson,
 Will e bear away
The dear child who died so early—
 Little Lena Gray.