The child began, “Father forgive
  My many sins, and bid me live: 
  May I be humble, meek and mild,
  Like Jesus, when a little child.

  “O may this feeble soul of mine,
  Be join’d to Christ, the living vine;
  May I ever bow the knee,
  And ‘Abba, Father,’ cry, to thee.

  “Father, in heaven, hear my prayer,
  And make a little child thy care,
  Jesus has said, so let it be,
  ‘Suffer such to come to me.’

  “But, mother, why’s my pulse so still? 
  Mother, why is the air so chill? 
  And, mother, why are angels fair
  Hov’ring o’er me, in the air?

  “Mother, with thee I cannot stay,—­
  Those angels beckon me away;
  I feel this night, so still, so deep,
  Will bring to me a lasting sleep.”

  “My child, my child, can it be so? 
  Can I let my darling go? 
  Oh, yes—­I see it plainly now,—­
  ’Tis death’s cold hand upon thy brow.

  “Come, lay thy icy cheek to mine,—­
  I’d kiss thee once, ere I resign
  To icy death, thy lovely form,
  To feed the gnawing coffin worm.

  “Corruption, nor the coffin worm,
  Can thy triumphant soul deform;
  That, enraptur’d, shall arise,
  To dwell with Christ, beyond the skies.

  “’Tis the dear Saviour bids thee come,—­
  His angels wait to bear thee home;
  Loudly, he’s saying now to thee,—­
  ‘Suffer such to come to me.’”

  “Mother, all things are pure and bright;—­
  I see them by a heavenly light,
  And beaming in the distance far,
  I see the glorious morning Star.

  “Farewell, mother,” but the name
  Died on her lips—­life’s quiv’ring flame
  Had just expir’d; that deathless soul
  Had burst its chains, and pass’d the goal.

  The mother meekly knelt in prayer,—­
  She felt that God’s own hand was there,
  Then wip’d one pearly tear away,
  And rose to shroud her lifeless clay.

  So sweet a smile the lips still wreath’d,
  It seemed life through their parting breath’d,
  So gently death had o’er her crept,
  That all who gaz’d might deem she slept.

  The mother watch’d, with earnest eye,
  Her youngest Child before her lie,
  Then meekly glancing up to heaven,
  “Father, she was not lent, but given.

  “Father, thou hast in mercy spoken,—­
  A tender tie from earth is broken,
  But that same tie is link’d to heaven,
  And stronger faith and hope are given.”

A Mother’s Prayer.

  My children all have sunk to rest,
  The youngest pillow’d on my breast,
  And though ’tis midnight, stern and deep,
  I still a mother’s vigil keep. 
  Why comes so oft the unbidden sigh? 
  Why springs the tear-drop to my eye,
  And why this agonizing prayer,
  Ming’ling with the midnight air? 
  O, God, to thee I lift mine eye,