A. DIRGE FOR A CHILD. LET us find out a pleasant tomb For the little one, That never tasted of the gloom Where the flowers are fairly growing, Decay must finger its smooth brow, But we'll think of the young thing smiling, And we know there's a gentle whiling In the young tomb flowers. Sing a pleasant song, young mother! Check complaints that do arise! Then cease thy idle weeping, For the little one that is sleeping; Gather hope flowers that are peeping Look, young mother, and thou shalt see But winter is coming, and merrily Winds will laugh at the blossoms dead. But spring from the south is coming, As the winds sing merry measure O'er the summer months' decline, But he killeth not what he blighteth- The grave that young spirit lighteth Like festal hall. A DIRGE FOR A CHILD. 55 Then find a pleasant place to lie That little white form in, Where the brooks with laughing note go by, And here we will come when gladly Will we weep for the young child, madly A PICTURE. "Whate'er the wanton spring, When she doth draper the ground with beauties, Toils for, comes home to autumn.” Ford. He is a hale old man; He is a stout old man; There is light within his eye, Tho' his head be silvery, And his cheek is blanched and wan. He is a glad old man; He is a laughing old man ; He is a talking old man ; And he has many a store A PICTURE. A warring, swearing young man, He is sitting by the warm fire, Red lips that fair child's are, And marked you how the blood ran 'Tis a pleasant sight to see, An old man glads the eye, 57 |