Lamoille newsdealer. [volume] (Hyde Park, Vt.) 1860-1877, 1862-07-04
Written for the Lamoille Newsdealer
THE BABY is DEAD.

AhA- ohnl 10 DIAD'
The rider upon the pale horse has been
sent forth upon a mission to the children
of earth, and many homes of light and
beauty have been turned into gloom at
his approach his breath bringeth mourn
ing and woe. Many mourner can say,
"the baby is dead" The lamb of the
flock, the darling of the household band,
the sweet, wee bud which opened its tiny
petals SO lovingly in the garden of the
heart, around which every fibre of the
being was closely entwined, the eloquent
teacher, the hearts enobler, Gods price
less gift to man. But yesterday the
laughing eyes met yours so full Of conf
ding trust, the rosy mantle claimed the
goodnight kiss, and the golden head res
ted warmly upon your heart. No,c-''oac
how changed, the little hands are folded
close-the busy feet are still-the bird
like voice forever hushed. Now the proud
father is bowed with grief, and the moth
er's heart dissolved in tears; and the
wondering children whisper with culver
ing lips, "the baby is dead"
All, mothers mourning mothers,
stricken fathers, you little thought when
you proudly gazed upon the bright beau
ty of the little one, and looking through
the starry vista of future years, you coun-
ted upon the brilliant career of your
child, that so soon there could come a
time SO fraught with anguish, that it
would be almost relief to know that the
distorted limbs were still and the moan Of
pain hushed forever And yet, the crush
ed heart must cry out, and her fountains
overflow. You will push the silken locks
from the polished brow; note the blue
veined lids and the dimpled chin, and
your heart rebels that so much beauty
should be given to feed the worms and
form the depth of dark despair. You
ask, "my God! my God why hast thou
Iforsaken me u
The other jewels which the All Father
lstill trusts to your keeping, may cluster
around your feet, and with yearning ten
derness you fold them in your heart, but
you miss the restless little spirit which
filled your days with happy cares, and
you turn weeping away, for alas, the ba'
by is dead. Spring may spread her man
tie of green over the earth, rich flowers
put forth at her call, and the birds sing
: love and joy and hope, Yea, all nature
rejoices in perennial beauty; but not fol
you are her charms displayed. Friends
may offer heart warm sympathies, the sea
sons in turn come and 60, riches and worlc
lly honors increase but your hearts CAL
never be glad as of old for broken anc
bleeding thay say, The baby is dead!
Weep, mourner weep, for nature claims
her due, but gently let your tears flow
There is comfort amid your sorrow, fol
the eye of faith can look beyond the grav'
to the bosom of him who said, "let lit
| n
tic children come unto me, for Of such II
the Kingdom of Heaven. Though cen
turies have come and gone since thos
words were spoken, their power to bles
remains the same to-day as then. LIE
such then as have borne the cross Of thu
humble Galaleean, remember the promis
Of One whose words can never fail, $50
am with you, even unto the ends Of th'
world" Who has said he never willing
ly afflicts the children of men. WheI
you clasp for the last time, the little was
ted hands, think Of the harp Of gold thos
same little hands will strike in the eter