The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1882-11-23
" Help Me Across, Papa !"
Detroit Free Press.l

Detroit Free Press.l
There was anguish in the faces OF
those who bent over the little white
bed, for they knew that baby May
was drifting away from them, going
out alone into the dark voyage where
so many have been wrested from
loving hands, and as they tried in
vain to keep her, or even to smooth
with their kind solicitude her last
brief sorrows, they, too, experienced
in the bitter hour of parting the
pangs of death. They only hoped
that she did not suffer now. The
rings of golden hair lay damp and
unstirred on her white forhead; the
roses were turned to lilies on her
cheeks; the lovely violet eyes saw them
not, but were upturned and. fixed;
the breath on the pale lips came and
went, futtered and seemed 10th to
leave its sweet prison. Oh, the awful,
cruel strength of death, and the
weakness, the helplessness of love I!
They who loved her better than life
could not lift a hand to avert the de-
stroyer; they could only watch and
wait until the end should come. Her
merry ringing laugh would never
again gladden. their hearts; her little
feet would make no more music as
they ran pattering TO meet them
Baby May was dying, and all the
house was darkened and hushed.
Then it was as the shadows fell in
denser waves about us, that she
stirred ever SO family, and our hearts
gave a great bound as we thought,
"She is better! She will live." Yes
she knew us; her eyes moved from
one face to the other, with dim un-
certain gaze! Oh! how good God
was to give her back How we would
praise and bless Him all our lives
She liftedo one dainty hand-cold-al-
most pulseless, but better, better-we
would have it so-and laid it on the
rough, Drowned hand of the rugged
man who sat nearest to her. His eve
lids were red with weeping, but now
a smile lighted all his bronzed face
like a rainbow as he felt the gentle
pressure of his little daughters hand
the mute, imploring touch, that
meant question.
"What is it darling?" he asked in
broken tones of Joy and thanksgiv-
ing.
She could not speak, so we raised
her on the pretty lace pillow, and her
wee white face shone in the twilight
like fair star, or sweet woodland
flower.
She lifted her heavy eyes to his
eyes that even then had the glory
and the promise of Immortality in
them, and reaching out her little
wasted arms, said in her weary, flute
like voice:
s'Help me across, papa"
Then she was gone We held to
our breaking hearts the frail, beauti-
ful shell, but she was far away, whittier
we might not follow. She had crossed
The dark river, and not alone.
: Over the river the boatman pale,
Carried the household pet
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands
), Anu tearlessly entered the phantom bark;
We felt it glide from the silver sands,
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark" |
Oh, Infinite Father! When we
weary and disappointed ones reach |
out pleading hands to Thee, wilt Thou
take us even as the little child, and
help us across over the mountains of
defeat and the valleys Of humiliation
INTO the eternal rest of Thy presence,
INTO the green pastures and beside
The still waters, into the city of the
New Jerusalem, whose builder and
maker is God.