"Speak to me, Willie," she exclaimed, bending over him in an agony
of grief.
"Mamma," he said, and, with the effort, his little spirit took its
flight.
Much has been said and written upon the death of infants, but when
we see so much of wickedness in the world, so much of sin to blight,
so much sorrow to fade, can we wonder that the Lord of Paradise
loves to transplant to a fairer clime these frail buds of earth,
there to have a beautiful and unfading development!
We saw no more of our precious friends till the day of the funeral.
This was their first affliction, and none liked to intrude on the
sanctity of their grief, though many tears were shed, and hearts
went out to them; but we felt that they knew whom they had trusted,
and that under the shadow of His wings they could rest securely till
the storm was past.
A neighbouring clergyman was to perform the last sad office for the
dead. Most lovely did little Willie look in his coffin. The
child-like, beautiful expression still lingered. Rare flowers, the
smallest and whitest, had been placed in the tiny hand, and shed
their fragrance throughout the room.
Oh! how sad and sick appeared the mother, as she bent to take the
last look at the little form she had loved and cherished so
tenderly! Her nights of anxiety and watching had left their traces
upon her face; her usually light and elastic step was feeble and
slow, and she rested heavily upon the arm of her husband.
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