Poems (Van Rensselaer)/At a Child's Grave
AT A CHILD'S GRAVE
Early the dying, ay,
But flawless the life thereby.
And who would a pearl exchange,
Perfect, for one of a strange
Distorted shape, and a hue
Less white than innocence, though
It had grown to a larger size?
Only the blind can prize
A pearl for its weight always,
A life for its length of days.
But flawless the life thereby.
And who would a pearl exchange,
Perfect, for one of a strange
Distorted shape, and a hue
Less white than innocence, though
It had grown to a larger size?
Only the blind can prize
A pearl for its weight always,
A life for its length of days.
Lie down in thy little grave.
Still shall thy mother have
A jewel of joy to keep
On her heart, awake, asleep,
While another mother may
Cover her head by day,
And mourn at night on her bed
The lost who are not the dead.
Still shall thy mother have
A jewel of joy to keep
On her heart, awake, asleep,
While another mother may
Cover her head by day,
And mourn at night on her bed
The lost who are not the dead.