Thus it is that the
lesser graces display themselves most richly, like the leaves and
flowers of life, where there is the deepest and the widest root of
love; not like the staring and artificial blossoms of dry custom
that, winter or summer, cannot change; but living petals woven in
Nature's workshop and folded by her tender skill, opening and
shutting morning and night, glancing and trembling in the sunshine
and in the breeze. This easy capacity of great affections for small
duties is the peculiar triumph of the highest spirit of love.
"OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN."
How quietly she lies!
Closed are the lustrous eyes,
Whose fringed lids, so meek,
Rest on the placid cheek;
While, round the forehead fair,
Twines the light golden hair,
Clinging with wondrous grace
Unto the cherub face.
Tread softly near her, dear ones! Let her sleep,--
I would not have my darling wake to weep.
Mark how her head doth rest
Upon her snowy breast,
While, 'neath the shadow of a drooping curl,
One little shoulder nestles like a pearl,
And the small waxen fingers, careless, clasp
White odorous flowers in their tiny grasp;
Blossoms most sweet
Crown her pure brow, and cluster o'er her feet,
Sure earth hath never known a thing more fair
Than she who gently, calmly, slumbers there.
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