The New Hampshire Gazette

THE LAST KISS.

In hopeless wretchedness he stood, and gazed
Upon his dying child—his pride, his loved
And cherished boy, He whose dimpled smile
Was wont to welcome his return, when from
The toils, vexations of the world he came
To seek repose and happiness at home—
That rosy prattler struggles now, beneath
The iron grasp of death. Oh, nought may save
That lovely one; wealth, talent, mind—how vain
To loose the unrelenting band of Him,
God's Messenger. In deep and ceaseless woe
The parents stood, and powerless marked
The heaving bosom and the pallid cheek
Of the beloved and lovely, while sad thought
Told what he was, and what he soon would be.
Could aught augment the anguish of that hour—
That bitter hour—or add a keener wound
Unto the lacerated heart? Yes there
Remained a pang yet unendured—
That dying one, once raised his mild blue eyes
To him he loved in life, who still amid
The wildest throbbings of that struggling heart
Retained his seat—'father' he faltered. 'kiss me'
'Twas all those sinless lips might ever utter.
Down he knelt, that spirit stricken one,
And pressed the little mouth, so oft by him
Press'd in the wild and fervent joy of love,
And gratitude, that heaven thus had blest,
And sent so rich a boon to fill his heart.
Those lips, now moisten'd with the dews of death
Returned the pressure—who may tell the deep,
Deep desolation of a father's soul—
One moment lingering, as to inhale
The spirit of his child that quivered there!
That moment's past—that spotless spirit's fled.
And when those parents look'd again, the fixed
Sweet smile of innocence in death, was there.