Classic Poem

Like a bud that bloomed when the day begun,
And folded its leaves at the setting sun,
Was the bright, brief life of your little one.
You will miss her voice and her step, I know,
As the days of the future come and go,
For you never shall hear them again below;
But do not weep,
She is only asleep,
And the Father in Heaven her soul will keep.

Her heart has forgotten to throb and thrill;
Her little white hands are strangely still;
She has gone to her rest—it is God's will.
The world hath sorrow, and trouble, and pain:
To live is to suffer and toil in vain;
Thank God, she has gone from it free from stain.
And do not weep,
She is only asleep,
And the Father in Heaven her soul will keep.

Out of the darkness, the storm and the cold;
Out of the world, with its heart-aches untold;
She has gone, dear lamb, to the Savior's fold,
Never to lose the rare beauty and grace
Of a spotless soul, of a churub face,
Through the endless ages of endless space.
Then do not weep,
She is only asleep,
And the Father in Heaven her soul will keep.

She has prattled and sung through her short, bright day;
It is evening now, she is tired of play;
Put the dear little shoes and toys away,
Kiss her pure lips and her brow so white,
Tuck her up tenderly, put out the light,
And bid the wee darling a long “Good-night,”
But do not weep,
She is only asleep,
And the Father in Heaven her soul will keep.

Write ye on the beautiful Hope, all riven,
The blessed assurance our Lord has given:
“Of such little ones is the kingdom of Heaven.”

And trusting His love, in the darkness wait,
Assured, as God liveth, or soon or late,
You will meet her again at the golden gate.
But do not weep,
She is only asleep,
And the Father in Heaven her soul will keep.