290 THE PALE BELL OP THE HEATH. 



I sliall not again see tlie sweet infant bell of 

 the healh rise \ip, without a tear for tlie gentle 

 babe, through whose bhie veins flowed blood not 

 alien to me and mine, and whose lovely aspect 

 frequently comes before me, in the silent hour, to 

 melt mv heart into sympathy with those who 

 cw'ned a much nearer tie : but 1 will look up, and 

 rejoice ; for precious is her lot, and her rest is very 

 glorious. 



«« Beautiful baby ! art thou sleeping 



Ne'er to unclose that beaming eye ? 

 Deaf to the voice of a mollier's weeping, 



All unmoved by a fatliei's sigh ! 



Wilt thou forsake the breast that bore the 



Seeking a lone, a distant spot, 

 To bid the cold, damp sod close o'er thee, 



Amid tlie slumb'rers who waken not !" 



Mother, loved mother, I am not sleeping; 



Father, look up to the soft blue sky; 

 Wliere the glittering stars briglit watch are keeping, 



Singing and shining, there am I. 



Warm was the tender breast that bore me ; 



'Twas sweet, my mother, to rest with thee : 

 But I was ciiosen— thon must restore me. 



To the fonder bosom thai bled for me. 



I lingered below, till just discerning 



My father's voice, and my mollier's smile; 



Love's infant lesson my liearl was learning, 

 But ofl my spirit was sad the while. 



