A Child's Funeral

No passer in the strait and dreary road
By hedgerows dank with rain :
From dusk low clouds the rain unceasing flowed
And the wind blew amain.

Only a little coffin borne of four
With two to mourn — none other
Follow as mourners through the windy pour,
The father and the mother.

A little pall is floating black and white,
The mourners' faces set
Upon the ground as though they envied quite
Their lifeless baby pet.

They do not feel the chill and soaking crape ;
But the tilting to and fro
They feel of that cold helpless baby shape
As the careless bearers go.

Ah ! where the gambols of his bounding limbs
Buoyant with springing life ?
Sweet light-and-shadow chase of baby whims,
Laughter and tears at strife ?

No more again will patter tiny feet
In his bright nursery,
No innocent prattle of his will hinder sweet
The day's dull drudgery'.

Ah ! pouting of his roselips for a kiss,
And dimpled arms that clung —
Trifles, for him a marvel and a bliss
To name with lisping tongue !

I follow to the little grave at hand,
I hear the griding rope,
And shuffling feet of them that lowering stand,
And those grand words of hope.

The parents look as though the rope did gride
Their sinking hearts about,
As if on them the earth were thrown to hide
And from the light shut out.

But once methinks the mother, raising eyes
As those grand words she hears
Read from the Holy Book to murky skies,
Light breaks behind the tears,

And feeds for her some shy emerging bow :
The father's face I see
Is dark and hopeless, though his spirit know
Divine the mystery.

But he will wind a man's strong arm about
The woman faltering :
They, since their life's wee fire has dwindled out,
For warmth more close will cling.