Here you will find the Poem The Dead Child of poet Victor James Daley
ALL silent is the room, There is no stir of breath, Save mine, as in the gloom I sit alone with Death. Short life it had, the sweet, Small babe here lying dead, With tapers at its feet And tapers at its head. Dear little hands, too frail Their grasp on life to hold; Dear little mouth so pale, So solemn, and so cold; Small feet that nevermore About the house shall run; Thy little life is o?er! Thy little journey done! Sweet infant, dead too soon, Thou shalt no more behold The face of sun or moon, Or starlight clear and cold; Nor know, where thou art gone, The mournfulness and mirth We know who dwell upon This sad, glad, mad, old earth. The foolish hopes and fond That cheat us to the last Thou shalt not feel; beyond All these things thou hast passed. The struggles that upraise The soul by slow degrees To God, through weary days? Thou hast no part in these. And at thy childish play Shall we, O little one, No more behold thee? Nay, No more beneath the sun. Death?s sword may well be bared ?Gainst those grown old in strife, But, ah! it might have spared Thy little unlived life. Why talk as in despair? Just God, whose rod I kiss, Did not make thee so fair To end thy life at this. There is some pleasant shore? Far from His Heaven of Pride, Where those strong souls who bore His Cross in bliss abide? Some place where feeble things, For Life?s long war too weak, Young birds with unfledged wings, Buds nipped by storm-winds bleak, Young lambs left all forlorn Beneath a bitter sky, Meek souls to sorrow born, Find refuge when they die. There day is one long dawn, And from the cups of flowers Light dew-filled clouds updrawn Rain soft and perfumed showers. Child Jesus walketh there Amidst child-angel bands, With smiling lips, and fair White roses in His hands. I kiss thee on the brow, I kiss thee on the eyes? Farewell! Thy home is now The Children?s Paradise.