Though lonely and low they lie,
By my mother's love do I speak and move
And may not wholly die."

The little live son he sighed apart,
"Oh, brother, ye live," quoth he,
"In my mother's grief and my mother's heart
And my mother's memory.

"And vain for thee is my mother's cry,"
The little live son hath said,
"For ye are loved and ye may not die--
It is only I who am dead!"


THE LITTLE DEAD CHILD: JOSEPHINE DASKAM BACON

When all but her were sleeping fast,
And the night was nearly fled,
The little dead child came up the stair
And stood by his mother's bed.

"Ah, God!" she cried, "the nights are three,
And yet I have not slept!"
The little dead child he sat him down,
And sank his head and wept.

"And is it thou, my little dead child,
Come in from out the storm?
Ah, lie thou back against my heart,