Baby is Dead - Page 2

The bud is nipped from its parent stem in the springtime of its existence; but it hath been transplanted to a milder clime, where the rough blasts and chilling storms of mortality cannot harm, and where, watered by the soft dew of Divine love, its tiny leaves will expand and bloom with unfading lustre!

Had this bud of life, over whom your souls yearned with such unutterable fondness, been spared to you, you know not how your bright anticipations might have been darkened. When it came to thread life's strange, wild paths, mildew and blight might have settled on the pure spirit, and guilty, desolating passions scathed the guileless heart.

Then weep not, mourning ones, but rather rejoice that He, who doeth all things well, hath summoned it, in its pristine purity, to a haven of innocence, where contamination nor decay cannot defile or enter. And when you miss the childish prattle or silvery laugh which fell so sweetly on your ears, think of the baby that is dead to you, as a rejoicing angel among angelic hosts that throng the "land of the blest." Baby is dead to earth, but is living in Paradise!

"Then mourn not, though the loved one go Early from this world of woe; Upon yon bright and blissful shore You soon shall meet to part no more, 'Mid amaranthine flowers to roam, Where sin and death can never come."

THE END.

* * * * * * * * * * * *