There came a day when missing was that face,--
The form so meekly bent in prayer was gone,--
Those lifted eyes, so radiant with praise,
Beyond the spheres in saintly beauty shone!--
Another crowned one swelling Heaven's high train--
Another loved one missed from our low shrine,--
Hers, the rich wealth of Heaven's eternal gain,--
A tearful trust, a tender memory, mine!
The other picture is a young, fair child--
A gentle boy, with curls of clustered gold,
And calm, dark eyes that seldom more than smiled
As though his life had grown too grave and old--
Too full of earnest thought, and anxious quest,
And silent searchings after things unseen;--
And yet, the quiet child seemed strangely blest,
As one who inly feels Heaven's peace serene.
So close beside me, in his Sabbath-place,
He sat or stood, my hand I might have laid
Upon his rippling curls, or dropped a kiss
Upon his fair, white forehead while he prayed.
Frail, beauteous boy!--upon his little feet--
Though all unheard by love's quick ear attent--
E'en then Death's chilling waters sternly beat,
And with his sweet child-hymns their murmurs blent.
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