by Mrs. S. A. Collins
On the death of the children of Mr. and Mrs. E. A. Hall, who died of diphtheria.
One home made desolate.
Two forms are sleeping under the wintry skies;
One mother heart-broken, one father grief-stricken,
Not a smile in that home, nothing but sighs.
Two little bodies were stricken with death.
Four little hands now are still:
And the home with no mirth and no childish laughter
Makes the mother shudder, her own heart feels the chill.
Death came to
that home and first took little
A sweet little body was she,
But her mission on earth was very soon ended,
And she went with the angels to be.
it seemed such a sorrow as this
Was one that could never be borne.
Life to them would be sad,
But swift as an eagle, Death back came again,
And whispered to Willis. He called him by name,
And soon that little spirit had taken its flight,
And left them to mourn; it hardly seemed right.
But God in his wisdom may make plain to them,
Why the children were called to his throne.
They are safe with the angels, and I think they are saying,
"We are waiting for papa and mama to come."