We dressed the baby in her snowy robe, And laid her in her crib in sweet repose, And in the lifeless waxen hand we laid A devry half-blown rose. Down on the baby forehead white and cold We combed the silken tangle of her hair, And close against the perfect rounded cheek We laid a lily fair. Among the snowy ribbons that she wore We placed the glistening leaves of smilax green, And then it almost seemed that through the lips A baby smile was seen. When sunset hour fell softly, sweetly down We laid her form to test beneath the ground, And as we turned away, a golden gleam Shone on the little mound. But still the baby seems not dead to us, And when the twilight falls I close my eyes, And once again I clasp her in my arms In glad and sweet surprise. Oh, precious sense of things we not of, And realize but dimly and apart! Come still, thou comfort! when the shadows fall, And soothe the sorrowing heart.
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THE BABY, Ashburton Guardian, Volume VII, Issue 2471, 22 July 1890
THE BABY Ashburton Guardian, Volume VII, Issue 2471, 22 July 1890
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