X.

More soft, less solemn images Drifted o'er the lady's heart Silently as snow. She had seen eight days depart Hour by hour, on bended knees, With pale-wrung hands and prayings low And broken, through which came the sound Of tears that fell against the ground, Making sad stops.--"Dear Lord, dear Lord!" She still had prayed, (the heavenly word Broken by an earthly sigh) --"Thou who didst not erst deny The mother-joy to Mary mild, Blessed in the blessed child Which hearkened in meek babyhood Her cradle-hymn, albeit used To all that music interfused In breasts of angels high and good! Oh, take not, Lord, my babe away-- Oh, take not to thy songful heaven The pretty baby thou hast given, Or ere that I have seen him play Around his father's knees and known That _he_ knew how my love has gone From all the world to him. Think, God among the cherubim, How I shall shiver every day In thy June sunshine, knowing where The grave-grass keeps it from his fair Still cheeks: and feel, at every tread, His little body, which is dead And hidden in thy turfy fold, Doth make thy whole warm earth a-cold! O God, I am so young, so young-- I am not used to tears at nights Instead of slumber--not to prayer With sobbing lips and hands out-wrung! Thou knowest all my prayings were 'I bless thee, God, for past delights-- Thank God!' I am not used to bear Hard thoughts of death; the earth doth cover No face from me of friend or lover: And must the first who teaches me The form of shrouds and funerals, be Mine own first-born beloved? he Who taught me first this mother-love? Dear Lord who spreadest out above Thy loving, transpierced hands to meet All lifted hearts with blessing sweet,-- Pierce not my heart, my tender heart Thou madest tender! Thou who art So happy in thy heaven alway, Take not mine only bliss away!"