Poems (Curwen)/Frances

by Annie Isabel Curwen

Frances.

The Angel of Death, as he pass'd thro' town
 Unseen, unheard, in the quiet night
Entered a chamber, and there looked down
 On two sleeping cherubs—a lovely sight;—
And smiling, stooped o'er the innocent things
And folded one in his shining wings.

Then, noiselessly, as he entered in,
 Forth from that rifled nest he stole,
Bearing away from this world of sin
 The baby's little stainless soul;
Back again to the Lord who had given—
The Angel sped on his way to heaven.

And down below the hours sped on—
 While side by side the sleepers lay—
The slumbering, and the "silent" one,
 The living form, and lifeless clay.
One little sister in peaceful rest,
One little soul in the land of blest.

Alas! for the mother, whose goodnight kiss
 Was baby's last, only, farewell;
Alas! for the father, whose arms will miss
 The little daughter he loved so well!
But what of the babe who has gone away?
"Is it well with the child?" Faith answers "Yea!"