To-night a little child lies dead;
I never saw its face;
I try to fancy now instead
Its lines of baby grace.
And for the sake of her who weeps
These lonely watches through
So wakefully my spirit keeps
A weary vigil, too.
A thousand thoughts appeal to me
In close-besieging crowd;
But through them all I only see
A little, snow-white shroud.
Nor may I set dull grief at naught,
However I am fain;
Since when the heart-strings are distraught,
The will must strive in vain.
Ah me! there breaks the dawning sun,
In golden light serene;
Yet still I mourn this little one,
Whom I have never seen!