On the day
That ushered in the night on which they died,
The boy his mother kissed, and fondly cried,
"Weep not, dear mother!--mother, do not weep!
You told me and my sister, death was sleep--
That the good Saviour, who from heaven came down,
And who for our sake wore a thorny crown--
You often told us how He came to save
Children like us, and conquered o'er the grave;
And I have read in his blessed book,
How in his hand a little child He took,
And said that such in heaven should greatest be:
Then, weep not, mother--do not weep for me;
For if I be angel when I die,
I'll watch you, mother--I'll be ever nigh;
Where'er you go, I'll hover o'er your head;
Then, though I'm buried, do not think me dead!
But let my sister's grave and mine be one,
And lay us by the pretty marble stone,
To which our father dear was wont to go,
And where, in spring, the sweet primroses blow;
Then, weep not, mother!" But she wept the more;
While the sad father his affliction bore
Like one in whom all consciousness was dead,
Save that he wrung his hands and rocked his head,
And murmured oft this short and troubled prayer--
"O God! look on me, and my children spare!"
XIII.
Their little arms still round each other clung,
When their last sleep death's shadow o'er them flung!
And still they slept, and fainter grew their breath--
Faint and more faint, until their sleep was death.
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