Little Nell's Funeral

And now the bell, — the bell

She had so often heard by night and day

  And listened to with solemn pleasure,

        E'en as a living voice, —

Rung its remorseless toll for her,

  So young, so beautiful, so good.

  Decrepit age, and vigorous life,

And blooming youth, and helpless infancy,

  Poured forth, — on crutches, in the pride of strength

        And health, in the full blush

        Of promise, the mere dawn of life, —

To gather round her tomb. Old men were there,

        Whose eyes were dim

        And senses failing, —

Grandames, who might have died ten years ago,

And still been old, — the deaf, the blind, the lame,

        The palsied,

The living dead in many shapes and forms,

To see the closing of this early grave.

  What was the death it would shut in,

To that which still could crawl and keep above it!

Along the crowded path they bore her now;

        Pure as the new fallen snow

That covered it; whose day on earth

        Had been as fleeting.

Under that porch, where she had sat when Heaven

In mercy brought her to that peaceful spot,

  She passed again, and the old church

  Received her in its quiet shade.

     They carried her to one old nook,

Where she had many and many a time sat musing,

  And laid their burden softly on the pavement.

           The light streamed on it through

The colored window, — a window where the boughs

        Of trees were ever rustling

     In the summer, and where the birds

           Sang sweetly all day long.