Of my taper burning low,
Dimly shows each vacant place,
Treasured curl and pictured face,
With a world of longing pain,
Empty hands are clasped in vain!
Then lie patient on my knee,
Till they come, my darlings three!
Bidding earthly sounds grow dumb,
In their shimmering robes they come,
Wondering at their mother’s woe—
Lovely spirits, white as snow!
When I slumber, they are near,
Whispering in my dreaming ear,
Shedding beams of heavenly light
From their pinions silvery bright!
Ah! such holy truths they speak,
Kissing lip, and brow, and cheek!
‘Peace!’ they murmur o’er and o’er;
‘We are with you evermore!
Angels count the mourner’s hours;
Every cross is crowned with flowers.’
God has taught them this, I know—
Lovely spirits, white as snow!
FANNY FORRESTER.
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Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.
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_All Rights Reserved._