In Philadelphia they have a custom which it would be pleasant to see adopted throughout
the land. It is that of appending to published death-notices a little verse or two of
comforting poetry. Any one who is in the habit of reading the daily Philadelphia
LEDGER must frequently be touched by these plaintive tributes to extinguished worth. In
Philadelphia, the departure of a child is a circumstance which is not more surely followed
by a burial than by the accustomed solacing poesy in the PUBLIC LEDGER. In that city
death loses half its terror because the knowledge of its presence comes thus disguised in
the sweet drapery of verse. For instance, in a late LEDGER I find the following (I change
the surname):
Hawks.--On the 17th inst., Clara, the daughter of Ephraim and Laura Hawks, aged 21
months and 2 days.
That merry shout no more I hear,
No laughing child I see,
No little arms are around my neck,
No feet upon my knee;
No kisses drop upon my cheek,
These lips are sealed to me.
Dear Lord, how could I give Clara up
To any but to Thee?
A child thus mourned could not die wholly discontented. From the LEDGER of the same
date I make the following extract, merely changing the surname, as before:
Becket.--On Sunday morning, 19th inst., John P., infant son of George and Julia Becket,
aged 1 year, 6 months, and 15 days.
That merry shout no more I hear,
No laughing child I see,
No little arms are round my neck,
No feet upon my knee;
No kisses drop upon my cheek;
These lips are sealed to me.
Dear Lord, how could I give Johnnie up
To any but to Thee?
