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The Dead Child.
by Margaret Steele Anderson("I believe ... in the resurrection of the body.")
How young you are, for such lone majesty
Of silence and repose!
That lip was vowed to laughter and that eye,
That white cheek to the rose!
What age your spirit hath, who thinks to say?
If young, or young no more;
But all for merriment, oh, all for play.
That new, sweet shape it wore!
So, in His time, to whom all time is now.
From flower and wind and steep.
Shall He not summon you to keep your vow,
Since He hath made you sleep?