Oh, list to the weary sigh--a whole tale in one breath--
A widowed life, and a mother's love, and the fear of an early death.
While there at her feet a pale boy sits,
And weeps for his mother's woe.

* * * * *

She has called to her boy in the night; he has nestled beside her bed,
And clung to her neck with a smothered cry and a feeling of sudden dread.
And thus they lie, till the mother strives
To speak with her tears unshed.

And then she tells him--so sweet and low, it sounds like a fairy tale--
How Jesus has sent His angels down to fetch her; that He won't fail
To send His angel to watch o'er him
When love can no more avail.

* * * * *

But still she holds him so gently firm, so close to her lifeless breast;
She speaks no more, he weeps no more, for God knows what is best.
He has taken both from a world of pain
To endless peace and rest.

E. A. V.

[Illustration]