Her husband died before her babe was born
Two years ago. Converted? Doubt and grief,
Poor soul! she felt. Her Methodist creed forlorn
Gave but a lenten substance of relief.
To-day, beneath the piteous gaze of morn,
Her child is dying. On his little brow
Descends the veil, and all is over now —
Not yet! not yet! For suddenly he springs,
As who perceived the gleam of golden wings.
" Dada! " he cries, he knows his father's face
Ne'er seen before. O God, Thou giv'st the grace!
O widowed heart! They live in Heaven's fair light,
Your husband with his boy. The child was right.