THE ALMOND BLOSSOM—FADING CHILDHOOD. 
21 
As if the bosom, by some hidden sword 
Was cleft in twain. Morn came. A blight had found 
The crimson velvet of the unfolding bud; 
The harp-strings ran a thrilling strain, and broke; 
And the young mother lay upon the earth 
In childless agony. Again the voice 
That stirred her vision : £ He who asked of thee 
Loveth a cheerful giver.’ So she raised 
Her gushing eye, and ere the tear-drop dried 
TJpon its fringes, smiled. Doubt not that smile, 
Like Abraham’s faith, was counted righteousness. 
Mrs. Sigourney. 
HD there our darling lay, in coffined calm, 
Dressed for the grave in raiment like the snow, 
And o’er her flowed the white eternal peace: 
The breathing miracle into silence passed; 
Ho more to stretch wee hands, with her dear smile, 
As soft as light- fall on unfolding flowers; 
Ho more to wake us, crying in the night; , 
Our little hindering thing for ever gone, 
In tearful quiet now we might toil on, 
All dim the living lustres motion makes, 
Ho life-dew in the sweet cups of her eyes ! 
Haught there of our poor baby but her brow ! 
The world went lightly by, and heeded not 
Our death-white windows blinded to the sun— 
The hearts that ached within — the measureless loss — 
The idol broken — our first tryst with death! 
0 Life, how strange thy face behind the veil! 
And stranger still will thy strange mystery seem 
When we awake in death and tell our dream. 
Massey. 
