The new era., 1860-03-01
SELECTED.
BABES OF HEAVEN
BY MRS. BENSON.

BY MRS. BENSON.
There are some infants who seem
destined for Heaven from their birth
Over these the mother may smile and
weep, and watch the fragile beauty Of
cheek and brow in vain.
Old and learned doctors may stand
beside their little couches, and count
the quick beating pulse they cannot
stay the steady footsteps OF death--they
cannot wave him back, that angel war
den of Heaven. Something is written
in the blue eyes, the gentle smile, that
mortals may never interpret ; for them
TIE tiny headstones stand in inches, fresh
from the graver's hands. For them the
little marble urns are already sculptur-
ed, and sweet spots in burial grounds lie
waiting. Hug it ever so closely to the
fond bosom, the favored immortal is even
in the hands Of angels, and they will
claim it.
have known a few such children.
ermember, as | write, a sweet sister,
who came when the bird pipes his first
May song For fifteen bright months
she was spared to earth, but all who
saw her gave ominous shakes Of the
head, and some said even with tears
" She will die,
OF all infant singers, none heard
ever sing like her From morning till
night from her twelfth month, her sweet,
clear voice rang through the house,
And she was neither taught this, nor
paraded for her gift-but friend COM
- ho gEnIJ
dred" from the singing lips OF a babe
who might be clinging to the chairs in
herfrst happy essay to walk. "China,'
and many of the ancient melodies, were
as household words to the little creature
and every day at twilight, till nearly
the day she died, she would sing her
self to sleep, lisping those old words:
Life is the time to serve the Lord
Precious angel f! her life was holy
service. How happy she has been
these long years, up there-singing.
| had another little sister, who died
at the same age | remember a still,
beautiful night, when | sat watching
that sweet face-the pale hands, the
laboring chest. Her mother, wearied
out, had fallen into light slumber.
Suddenly, in the dying hour, the old
tune Of "Sweet Home" rang out, clear,
sweet, distinct How can describe
the feeling that thrilled through all my
veins, when looking at the little lips,
pale and trembling, saw them moving
to the cadence of that cherished melody.
There laid babe, scarcely more than
a year old, disease upon her, her tenn
Piles witening in death, singing trium-
phal strain with failing breath. No
language can tell how indescr ibaDly
beautiful, yet how awful was the scene.
She sang it through to the last note
and her fragile form sank backward.
In the morning they were lying lightly
and tenderly on her limbs ihe burial
shroud.
heard lately little story, which for
pathos could not be excelled.
A beautiful infant had been taught to
say, and it could say little else "God
will take care of baby
It was seized with sickness, and at
time when both parents were hardly
convalescent from dangerous illness.
Every day it grew worse, and at last
wss given up to die. Almost agonized.
the mother prayed TO be carried into the
room of her darling, TO give in one last
embrace. Both parents succeeded in
gaining the apartment. but just asst was
thought the babe had breathed-it last.
The mother wept aloud; and once
more the little creature opened its eyes,
looked lovingly up in her face-smiied,
and moved its little lips.
They bent closer down.
.God tpiH take care Of baby"
Sweet, consoling words they had
hardly ceased when the angel-sPirit was
in Heaven.- Olive Branch