FUNERAL FLOWERS. 
149 
‘‘ i Why should I deplore thy early grave, 
oh! iny first-born? When the newly fledged 
bird first seeks his food, he finds many bitter 
grains. Thou never felt the pangs of sorrow, 
and thy heart was never polluted by the 
poisonous breath of men. The rose that is 
nipped in the bud, dies enclosed with all its 
perfumes, like thee, my son, with all thy 
innocence. Happy are those who die in 
infancy ; they have never known the joys or 
sorrows of a mother.’ ” 
How touchingly expressed is this chastened 
sorrow of the Indian matron : we cannot refrain 
from giving, as a companion to her apostrophe, 
the following beautiful epitaph on a child:— 
“ Here she lies, a pretty bud, 
Lately made of flesh and blood; 
Who so soon fell fast asleep 
As her little eyes did peep. 
Give her strewing s, but not stir 
The earth that lightly covers her.” 
Robert Herrick. 
In reference to the superstition, regarding the 
supposed existence of the soul of a departed 
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