The Christian Mother's Lament.

THE FOLLOWING LITTLE POEM WAS SUGGESTED BY A PASSAGE IN THE MEMOIRS OF THE LATE MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON OF BOSTON, NEW ENGLAND.     Ah! cold at my feet thou art sleeping, my boy,         And I press on thy pale lips, in vain, the fond kiss;     Earth opens her arms to receive thee, my joy!         And all I have suffered was nothing to this:     The day-star of hope 'neath thine eyelids is sleeping,     No more to arise at the voice of my weeping.     Oh, how art thou changed!--since the light breath of morning         Dispelled the soft dew-drops in showers from the tree,     Like a beautiful bud, my lone dwelling adorning,         Thy smiles called up feelings of rapture in me;     I thought not the sunbeams all brightly that shone     On thy waking, at eve would behold me alone.     The joy that flashed out from those death-shrouded eyes,         That laughed in thy dimples and brightened thy cheek,     Is quenched--but the smile on thy pale lip that lies,         Now tells of a joy that no language can speak.     The fountain is sealed, the young spirit at rest,     Ah, why should I mourn thee--my loved one--my blest?