Classic Poem

On her pale bier the baby lay,
And healthy children from their play,
With tip-toe awe and bated breath,
Came gently in to look on Death.

One touched the flowers that decked the bier;
Another dropped a little tear;
One stroked the cheek so waxy white;
And one cowered weeping with affright.

But one fair boy won Life from Death
By that quick faith that childhood hath;
And cried, with gaze past present things,
" P'raps baby's trying her new wings. "