Poems (Crandall)/The Child
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The Child
A gracious child whose lovely face
Still beamed with the night of Heaven,
Whose lips still wore the happy smile
An angel's kiss had given.
Still beamed with the night of Heaven,
Whose lips still wore the happy smile
An angel's kiss had given.
And the parents hearts by the dimpled hands
Were pressed so close together,
They called them one, nor ever dreamed
That aught their heart could sever.
Were pressed so close together,
They called them one, nor ever dreamed
That aught their heart could sever.
She twined bright flowers in the mothers hair,
But the mother could not keep her;
With a laugh she sprang to her father's arms,
And the light in his eye grew deeper.
But the mother could not keep her;
With a laugh she sprang to her father's arms,
And the light in his eye grew deeper.
A few bright years, and the happy face
Had lost its innocent gladness;
And in the depths of those wonderful eyes
Lay a look of reproachful sadness.
Had lost its innocent gladness;
And in the depths of those wonderful eyes
Lay a look of reproachful sadness.
And stiller and weaker day by day
She clung to her mother sighing,
And the mother wept through the long dark nights
For her beautiful child that was dying.
She clung to her mother sighing,
And the mother wept through the long dark nights
For her beautiful child that was dying.
At last with bruised and bleeding heart
She lay with pain all ashiver;
The mother clasped her in her arms
Each sensitive nerve aquiver.
She lay with pain all ashiver;
The mother clasped her in her arms
Each sensitive nerve aquiver.
She pressed her lips to the sunny curls,
Till ceased the pitiful moaning;
And then that she with her child might die
She prayed with sobs and groaning.
Till ceased the pitiful moaning;
And then that she with her child might die
She prayed with sobs and groaning.
And when the father sought his child;
The mother sad and tearful,
Said, "Oh, my husband, our child is dead,"
His face grew pale and fearful.
The mother sad and tearful,
Said, "Oh, my husband, our child is dead,"
His face grew pale and fearful.
She beckoned him into the shaded room
And stood by, silently weeping;
"Oh wake her, wake her," he hoarsely cried,
"I know she is only sleeping."
And stood by, silently weeping;
"Oh wake her, wake her," he hoarsely cried,
"I know she is only sleeping."
He kissed the cold and clammy face
Once full of life and gladness,
He smoothed her curls, he chaffed her hands,
He raised her up in his madness.
Once full of life and gladness,
He smoothed her curls, he chaffed her hands,
He raised her up in his madness.
Too late—too late—your loving words
Can stir her pulses never;
Yours be the cold and lifeless form.
But the soul has gone forever.
Can stir her pulses never;
Yours be the cold and lifeless form.
But the soul has gone forever.
O heavenly child, sweet be thy sleep
Among the saintly dead.
What a sad, sad thing, is the form of Love
When the beautiful soul has fled.
Among the saintly dead.
What a sad, sad thing, is the form of Love
When the beautiful soul has fled.