The Manning times. [volume] (Manning, Clarendon County, S.C.) 1884-current, 1899-05-10
HELP ME ACROss, PAPA .
The Last TrustfuI Words of a Diving
Little Girl.

There wss anguish in the face Of
those who bent over the little white
bed, for they knew that baby Mary
was drifting away from them, going out
into the dark voyage where so many
have been wrested from loving hands,
and they tried in vain to keep her, or
even 10 smooth with their kind solici-
tude her last brief sorrows, they, too,
experienced in the bitter hour of part
ing, the pangs of death. They only
hoped that she did not suffer nov.
The rings of golden hair lay deep and
unstirred on her white forehead, the
roses were turned to lilies on her cheeks
the lovely violet eyes saw them not,
but were upturned and fixed, the breath
which was on the pale, pale lips came
and went, Auttered, and seemed 10th to
leave its sweet prison. Oh, the awful
and cruel strength Of death and the
weakness, the helplessness of lovel
They who loved her better than life,
could not lift hand to avert the de-
stroyer, they could only watch and wait
until the end should come. Her merry
ringing laughter would never again
gladden. their hearts; her feet would
make no more music as they ran patter
ing to meet them Baby Mary was dy-
ing. and all the house was darkened
and hushcd.
Then it was as the shadows fell in
denser waves about US, that she stirred
ever so faiRtly, and our hearts gave a
great bound as We thought ''She is bet
ter. She will live Yes, she knew US;
her eyes moved from one face to another
with dim, uncertain gaze. Oh, how
good God was to give here back. How
we could praise him and bless him all
our lives! She lifted one dainty hand
cold-almost pulseless, but better, bet
ter-we would have it so--and laid it
on the rough Drowned hand Of the rug
ged man who sat nearest to her. His
eyelids were red with weeping but now
smile lighted his bronzed face like
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,
n broken tones Of JOY and thanksgiv
ing.
She could not speak, and 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
eyef that even then had the glory and
the promise of Immortality in them,
and reached out her little wasted
aims, said in her weary, flute like
voice:
'Help me across, papar'
Then she was gone We held to our
breaking hearts this frail, beautiful
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 another, the household pet,
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled
hands
And fearlessly entered the phantom
bark:
We felt it glide over the silvery sands
And all our sunshine grew strangely
dark.
Oh, Infinite Father When we
weary and disal pointed ones reach opt
pleading hands to thee, wilt thou take
US even as the little child, and help US
across the mountains Of defeat and val
ley 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 build
er and maker is God