Classic Poem

When the baby died, we said,
With a sudden, secret dread,
“Death, be merciful, and pass:
Leave the other!” but, alas!

While we watched he waited there,
One foot on the golden stair,
One hand beckoning at the gate,
Till the home was desolate.

Friends say, “It is better so,
Clothed in innocence to go;”
Say, to ease the parting pain,
That “your loss is but their gain.”

Ah! the parents think of this!
But remember more the kiss
From the little rose-red lips;
And the print of finger-tips,

Left upon a broken toy,
Will remind them how the boy
And his sister charmed the days
With their pretty, winsome ways.

Only Time can give relief
To the weary, lonesome grief;
God's sweet minister of pain
Then shall sing of loss and gain.