Sonnet XX.

by John Moultrie

John Moultrie

We stood beside the sick, and, as we thought,
The dying pillow of our youngest child,
Whose spirit yet by this world, undefiled,
Seem'd ready to take wing; when there was brought
A letter for my hands, which in me wrought
Strange feelings; for it spake, with kindness mild,
Of one to like bereavement reconciled
By a brief lesson which my pen had taught.
And therewith came a little simple book,
Telling a gentle tale of children twain,
Whom God of late to rest eternal took
From this world's sin and sorrow, care and pain:
Thankfully on those pages did we look,
And trust they spake not to our hearts in vain.

Last updated July 21, 2017