A hearse all draped in mourning, With white plumes overhead, Bearing a little coffin—   Somebody's baby's dead. 

Upon the velvet cover Some hand has placed a wreath, White as the waxen features Of the baby that lies beneath. 

Out in the graveyard making A rest for a shining head, Somebody's heart is breaking, Somebody's baby's dead. 

Over a baby's coffin, Heaping a mound of clay, Somebody's hopes are buried In that little grave to-day. 

Somebody's home is dreary, Somebody's sunshine fled, Somebody's sad and weary, Somebody's baby's dead. 

 

     THE WITHERED ROSEBUD. 

I gathered you, sweet little rosebud, With a dew crown encircling your head; Now, out of the window I toss you, Shriveled, and scentless, and dead. You had opened to wondrous perfection, Had only my hand let you pass; Yet here you have perished for water—   I forgot to put some in the glass. 

Ah! poor little withered, dead rosebud, How many a weak human heart, Too like you, has famishing perished, When life had but only a start? Yes, many a heart, little rosebud, Loving, and tender, and true, For water has faded and withered, And died in its beauty like you, Not because there was dearth of life's fountain, Nor the blessing to all might not pass, But because the strong hand which it clung to Forgot to put some in its glass. 

 

     MY SHIPS HAVE COME FROM SEA. 

You are watching a ship, O, maiden fair, With parted lips and wistful air, The ship that out from the sheltered bay With white sails spread moves slow away; And I know, my girl, the thoughts that burn In your heart are of ship's return. Ah! I know so well how your pulses beat, With the great sea sobbing at your feet; And the yellow stars in southern skies Are brighter not than your love-bright eyes. I, too, have stood on the sea-wet sand And tearful waved a farewell hand, And watched with many a longing prayer. My face, like yours, was young and fair, And my eyes were bright as the diamond's glow; They've lost their sparkle—long ago. I stand along on the beach to-day, Watching the ships that sail away; But never a sail from over the sea The flowing tide will bring to me, My ships have come from sea. 

The first was 

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