When Bessie Died

If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped,     And ne'er would nestle in your palm again;     If the white feet into the grave had tripped"     When Bessie died -     We braided the brown hair, and tied     It just as her own little hands     Had fastened back the silken strands     A thousand times - the crimson bit     Of ribbon woven into it     That she had worn with childish pride -     Smoothed down the dainty bow - and cried     When Bessie died.     When Bessie died -     We drew the nursery blinds aside,     And as the morning in the room     Burst like a primrose into bloom,     Her pet canary's cage we hung     Where she might hear him when he sung -     And yet not any note he tried,     Though she lay listening folded-eyed.     When Bessie died -     We writhed in prayer unsatisfied:     We begged of God, and He did smile     In silence on us all the while;     And we did see Him, through our tears,     Enfolding that fair form of hers,     She laughing back against His love     The kisses had nothing of -     And death to us He still denied,     When Bessie died -     When Bessie died.