A Memory

A wee one came one summer’s morn,

     Just at the break of day;

A new world ope’d, when it was born,

     But ah! it could not stay.

And she, she thought it were a dream,

     That it should taken be;

O, no; she could not make it seem,

     A cold reality.

But when the wee one ceased to cry,

     And back to Heaven flew,

While its dear face grew cold close by,

     She knew, poor thing, she knew.

And so these things must come and go,

     By Heaven rightly planned;

But tho’ we’re taught, “‘twere better so,”

     It’s hard to understand.

Aug. 31, ‘94

  Joseph and Emma Cone’s first two children died in infancy.