OUR LITTLE GIRL

Her heart knew naught of sorrow,

Nor the vaguest taint of sin —

‘ Twas an ever-blooming blossom

Of the purity within:

And her hands knew only touches

Of the mother's gentle care,

And the kisses and caresses

Through the interludes of prayer.

Her baby-feet had journeyed

Such a little distance here,

They could have found no briers

In the path to interfere;

The little cross she carried

Could not weary her, we know,

For it lay as lightly on her

As a shadow on the snow.

And yet the way before us —

O how empty now and drear!—

How ev'n the dews of roses

Seem as dripping tears for her!

And the song-birds all seem crying,

As the winds cry and the rain,

All sobbingly,— “We want — we want

Our little girl again!”