Our Baby

‘T^O-DAY we cut the fragrant sod

-^ With trembling hands asunder; And lay this well-beloved of God,

Our dear dead baby, under. Oh hearts that ache, and ache afresh!

Oh tears too blindly raining! Our hearts are weak, yet, being flesh,

Too strong for our restraining.

Sleep, darling, sleep! cold rains shall steep

Thy little turf-made dwelling; Thou wilt not know, so fir below.

What winds or storms are swelling. The birds shall sing in the warm spring,

And flowers bloom about thee; Thou wilt not heed them, love, but oh,

The loneliness without thee!

Father, we will be comforted!

Thou wast the gracious Giver: We yield her up, not dead, not dead,

To dwell with thee for ever. Take thou our child, — ours for a day

Thine while the ages blossom.
This little shining head we lay

In the Redeemer’s bosom!