DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN.

WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.

YOUNG mother, he is gone!

His dimpled cheek no more will touch thy breast; No more the music tone

Float from his lips, to thine all fondly pressed; His smile and happy laugh are lost to thee: Earth must his mother and his pillow be.

His was the morning hour,

And he hath passed in beauty from the day,
A bud, not yet a flower,

Torn, in its sweetness, from the parent spray;
The death wind swept him to his soft repose,
As frost in spring time blights the early rose.

Never on earth again

Will his rich accents charm thy listening ear,
Like some Æolian strain,

Breathing at eventide serene and clear;
His voice is choked in dust, and on his eyes
Th' unbroken seal of peace and silence lies.

And from thy yearning heart,

Whose inmost core was warm with love for him,

134

DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN.

A gladness must depart,

And those kind eyes with many tears be dim;
While lovely memories, an unceasing train,
Will turn the raptures of the past to pain.

Yet, mourner, while the day

Rolls like the darkness of a funeral by,
And hope forbids one ray

To stream athwart the grief-discolored sky,
There breaks upon thy sorrow's evening gloom
A trembling lustre from beyond the tomb.

"Tis from the better land!

There, bathed in radiance that around them springs,
Thy loved one's wings expand;

As with the choiring cherubim he sings,
And all the glory of that God can see,
Who said, on earth, to children, " Come to me."

Mother, thy child is blessed :

And though his presence may be lost to thee,
And vacant leave thy breast,

And missed a sweet load from thy parent knee,
Though tones familiar from thine ear have passed,
Thou'lt meet thy first born with his Lord at last.

HYMN FOR AN INFANT'S FUNERAL.

REV. LEGH RICHMOND.

HARK! how the angels, as they fly,
Sing through the regions of the sky,
Bearing an infant in their arms,

Securely freed from sin's alarms.

"Welcome, dear babe, to Jesus' breast,

Forever there in joy to rest:

Welcome to Jesus' courts above,

To sing thy great Redeemer's love!

"We left the heavens, and flew to earth, To watch thee at thy mortal birth: Obedient to thy Savior's will,

We staid to love and guard thee still.

"We, thy protecting angels, came
To see thee blessed in Jesus' name;
When the baptismal seal was given,
To mark thee, child, an heir of heaven.

"When the resistless call of death
Bade thee resign thy infant breath,
When parents wept, and thou didst smile,
We were thy guardians all the while.

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AN ANGEL PRESENCE.

"Now, with the lightning's speed, we bear
The child committed to our care;
With anthems such as angels sing,
We fly to bear thee to our King."

Thus sweetly borne, he flies to rest;

We know 'tis well

nay, more, 'tis best.
When we our pilgrim's path have trod,
O, may we find him with our God!

AN ANGEL PRESENCE.

REV. R. C. WATERSTON.

It is noteworthy that children who are taken away by death always remain in the memory of parents as children. Other children grow old, but this one continues in youth. It looks as we last saw it in health. The imagination hears its sweet voice and light step; sees its silken hair and clear bright eyes, all just as they were. Ten and twenty years may go by; the child remains in the memory, as at first, a bright, happy child. Its young and beautiful form moves before us : and what is such a memory but an angel presence? Certainly next to seeing an angel, is seeing with a parent's heart such a cherished form. Amidst this world of ambition and show, who shall say that this is not a means, under Providence, of subduing and spiritualiz

ing the mind? Thus, in order to cherish such a remembrance, we are at times willing to turn even from the charms of the living. The sigh becomes sweeter than the song. Sorrow subdued becomes a friend, and sacred joy is mingled with the tears of holy recollection. Thus, as grief ascends the Mount of Time, she seems to pass through a state of transfiguration. The convulsive agony changes to passive sorrow, and querulous misgivings to quiet meditation. There must be distress; let, then, the gushing tears. flow, for it is the course of nature; but, even with this, let there be the victory of the Christian faith, the glorious hope of our holy religion.

THOUGHTS WHILE MAKING THE GRAVE OF .A NEW-BORN CHILD.

N. P. WILLIS.

ROOM, gentle flowers! my child would pass to heaven!
Ye looked not for her yet with your soft eyes,
O watchful ushers at Death's narrow door!
But lo! while you delay to let her forth,
Angels, beyond, stay for her! One long kiss
From lips all pale with agony, and tears
Wrung after anguish had dried up with fire
The eyes that wept them, were the cup of life
Held as a welcome to her. Weep, O mother!