Bessie

                              I.
She lay before me in her little shroud,
     Her pale hands softly folded on her breast, 
     As if, o'erwearied, she had sunk to rest 
To dream of Heaven, and of the radiant crowd 
     That tread its golden pavements. Not a trace 
     Of dying anguish lingered on her face;
But round her lips a sweetly serious smile
     Still seemed to play—a token from the LORD, 
     Of bliss upon her sinless spirit poured.
Then came a thought of Him who blessed, erewhile, 
     Young children—"Suffer them to come to me!"
Still thrilled that heavenly voice upon my ear, 
And my heart answered, as I dropped a tear, 
     THY will be done!—we leave our child with THEE!

                              II.
When over her sweet face the coffin lid
     Was closed forever, and with tears we gave 
     Our loveliest to the keeping of the grave, 
(And who that knew her would our tears forbid?)
     "Tis a sad world," said one, "a world of woe.
Where Sorrow reigns supreme." Yet from my heart
The all-sustaining hope did not depart;
     But, to its impulse true, I answered—"No!
The World hath much of good—nor seldom, Joy 
     Over our spirits broods with radiant wing;
     Gladness from grief, and life from death, may spring:
Treasures are ours the grave cannot destroy:
Then chide not harshly on, Instructress stern, 
Whose solemn lessons Wisdom bids us learn!