National Republican. (Washington City (D.C.)) 1872-1888, 1881-01-08

One day there comes time when the blinds are
drawn again. the lights made dim, and when 81
lenCe sits brooding in every nook and corner o
home.
Strange, solemn events are transporting within
What can be happening that keeps everything sc
quiet? Through all the night one particular lamp
burns on with faint radiance, and in the morn
ing knot Of white ribbon at the door tells the
mournful story.
All, how that mute, simple emblem beckons to
The hearts of men and women passing by; and
children, too feel throb of pity as they behold
it, for they comprehend full well It's Sorrowful
meaning. They read it as readily as though il
We're open book
little child has died; soul taken its fight; q
little form reposes, calm pale, ifelesS, in the very
ro0m where first the eyes, now closed forever, saw
the light of home. A sweet flower has persisted; q
tender birding has departed from the family nest
sgoldcn strand has been rudeiy broken in twain
aud the harp of home is silent.
- Only a little child!' No funeral pomp, no toll
ing bell; yet death has entered into Paradise A
new grave is to be opened a once living, human
form soon to be laid therein, to rest underneath
She freshly rounded earth. But it is "only little
child" that has died. What does it matter?
Only little child" And yet somebody's
hearts have been made TO ache with a pain no
PHYSICIANS art can alleviate; somebody's tears
have been caused TO flow: somebody's home has
pccn rendered desolate by the loss of that little
one. Only a little child has been taken, it is
true, but with the little form will be carried away
70 the tomb somebody's darling.
Perhaps the little head with its wealth of bright
m!iiiy HngletS, has not foE long nestI1d in its
mothers breast; thu tiny fingers may not have
long wandered over the soft, white pillows where
On the delicately-tinted, Yelvety cheeks were
IN
learned the look Of love in all its fullness; but
an that little head was such sweet burden rest
ing upon the mothers heart; those little rosy
tipped fingers were such precious tendris, entwin-
s themselves so gently yet irresiStibly about the
mo.hery affections; those eyes, so clear and beau
niui-ooubly 50 as they gazed into the mothers
l'Ie WIN look of perfect truSt-nOw they are
S'ue Inc little head no longer pillowsitself upon
Tue maternal bosom. "OnIy little child % But
AL !e careless Ones-ye who have never sounded
Tue depths that lie below all ordinary love and feel
t.'5-.ook for moment upon the silent form ere
\ - hidden from the gaze of those who loved it
wei and ienderly, and cared for it unselfshly.
approach We thoughtlesS ones! Behold what
u !, q death hath wrought!
HE hands clear and white and cold. like
i'i' marble are folded above pulSeess heart:
| ohce busy fingers and the restlass feet are quiet
~ 81 ana the dawning light of love no longer
nom out the liquid eyes. Nomore Iullabies,
--''e anxious Watchings, no more moments of
e.e>t JOY as with laughing eyes looking each
n-- CO. ''e others mother and child meet in fond
ON, Al these are past. There lies the little
-1Ae mothers darling-dead!
bsr DIVERS nestle amid the golden ringlets which
DeGn brushed gently back from the pale, cold
,ho by the hand of love; flowers softly rest
H.. ule silent heart; flowers, sweet flowers,
aoT1 IDn IN the nerveless hands; but yet, it is
and little child" lying thus so strangely calm
beer only little child" whose spirit has
wcnr. ID aimed by Him who gave it. Why do you
eloSad me BOOK of its young life, thus early
WARS not q single stain The pages whereon