The Little Shroud
by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
She put him on a snow-white shroud,
A chaplet on his head;
And gathered early primroses
To scatter o'er the dead.
She laid him in his little grave --
'Twas hard to lay him there,
When spring was putting forth its flowers,
And everything was fair.
She had lost many children -- now
The last of them was gone;
And day and night she sat and wept
Beside the funeral stone.
One midnight, while her constant tears
Were falling with the dew
She heard a voice, and lo! her child
Stood by her weeping too!
His shroud was damp, his face was white,
He said, --
I cannot sleep,
Your tears have made my shroud so wet,
O, mother, do not weep!
O, love is strong! -- the mother's heart
Was filled with tender fears;
O, love is strong! and for her child
Her grief restrained its tears.
One eve a light shone round her bed,
And there she saw him stand --
Her infant in his little shroud,
A taper in his hand.
Lo! mother, see my shroud is dry,
And I can sleep once more!
And beautiful the parting smile
The little infant wore.
And flown within the silent grave
He laid his weary head;
And soon the early violets
Grew o'er his grassy bed.
The mother went her household ways --
Again she knelt in prayer,
And only asked of Heaven its aid
Her heavy lot to bear.
Source:The Poetical Works Of Miss Landon
Phillips, Sampson, And Co.
110 Washington Street