The Dying Child
My heart is very faint and low;
My thoughts, like spectres, come and go;
I feel a numbing sense of woe:
Until to-day it was not so,
I know not what this change may be.
The unseen Angel of Death
It is my voice within, that calls;
It is my shadow, child, that falls
Upon thy spirit, and appals,
That hems thee in like dungeon walls;
My presence that o'ershadoweth thee.
Oh, mother, leave me not alone!
I am a-feared; my heart's like stone;
A dull pain cleaveth brain and bone;
I feel a pang till now unknown —
Stay with me for one little hour!
Oh! soothe me with thy low replies;
I cannot bear the children's cries;
And, when I hear their voices rise,
Impatient tears o'erflow my eyes;
My will seems not within my power.
Poor Johnny brought me flowers last night,
The blue-bell and the violet white,
Then they were pleasant to my sight;
But now they give me no delight,
And yet I crave for something still.
Reach me the merry bulfinch here,
He knows my voice; I think 'twill cheer
My heart, his piping song to hear.
— Ah! I forgot that bird so dear
Was sold to pay the baker's bill.
Oh! why was Mary sent away?
I only asked that she might stay
Beside me for one little day;
I thought not to be answered nay,
Just once — I would have asked no more.
— Forgive me if I'm hard to please —
Mother, weep not! Oh, give me ease!
Raise me, and lay me on thy knees!
I know not what new pangs are these;
I never felt the like before.
It is so stifling in this room —
Can it be closer in the tomb?
I feel encompassed by a gloom.
O father, father, leave the loom,
It makes me dizzy like the mill.
Father, I feel thy hot tears fall;
If thou hast thought my patience small
Forgive me! Fain would I recall
Each hasty word — I love you all:
I will be patient, will be still.
The unseen Angel of Death
Be still! My pinions o'er thee spread;
A duller, heavier weight than lead
Benumbs thee, and the life hath fled.
Child, thou hast passed the portals dread,
Thou now art of the earth no more.
Arise, thy spiritual wings unfold:
Poor slave of hunger, want, and cold,
Thou now hast wealth surpassing gold,
Hast bliss no poet's tongue hath told;
Rejoice! all pain, all fear is o'er.
My thoughts, like spectres, come and go;
I feel a numbing sense of woe:
Until to-day it was not so,
I know not what this change may be.
The unseen Angel of Death
It is my voice within, that calls;
It is my shadow, child, that falls
Upon thy spirit, and appals,
That hems thee in like dungeon walls;
My presence that o'ershadoweth thee.
Oh, mother, leave me not alone!
I am a-feared; my heart's like stone;
A dull pain cleaveth brain and bone;
I feel a pang till now unknown —
Stay with me for one little hour!
Oh! soothe me with thy low replies;
I cannot bear the children's cries;
And, when I hear their voices rise,
Impatient tears o'erflow my eyes;
My will seems not within my power.
Poor Johnny brought me flowers last night,
The blue-bell and the violet white,
Then they were pleasant to my sight;
But now they give me no delight,
And yet I crave for something still.
Reach me the merry bulfinch here,
He knows my voice; I think 'twill cheer
My heart, his piping song to hear.
— Ah! I forgot that bird so dear
Was sold to pay the baker's bill.
Oh! why was Mary sent away?
I only asked that she might stay
Beside me for one little day;
I thought not to be answered nay,
Just once — I would have asked no more.
— Forgive me if I'm hard to please —
Mother, weep not! Oh, give me ease!
Raise me, and lay me on thy knees!
I know not what new pangs are these;
I never felt the like before.
It is so stifling in this room —
Can it be closer in the tomb?
I feel encompassed by a gloom.
O father, father, leave the loom,
It makes me dizzy like the mill.
Father, I feel thy hot tears fall;
If thou hast thought my patience small
Forgive me! Fain would I recall
Each hasty word — I love you all:
I will be patient, will be still.
The unseen Angel of Death
Be still! My pinions o'er thee spread;
A duller, heavier weight than lead
Benumbs thee, and the life hath fled.
Child, thou hast passed the portals dread,
Thou now art of the earth no more.
Arise, thy spiritual wings unfold:
Poor slave of hunger, want, and cold,
Thou now hast wealth surpassing gold,
Hast bliss no poet's tongue hath told;
Rejoice! all pain, all fear is o'er.
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