The Little Mourner.

``Child, whither goest thou Over the snowy hill? The frost--air nips so keen That the very clouds are still: From the golden folding curtains The sun hath not looked forth, And brown the snow--mist hangs Round the mountains to the north.'' ``Kind stranger, dost thou see Yonder church--tower rise, Thrusting its crown of pinnacles Into the looming skies?-- Thither go I:--keen the morning Bites, and deep the snow; But, in spite of them, Up the frosted hill I go.'' ``Child, and what dost thou When thou shalt be there?-- The chancel--door is shut-- There is no bell for prayer; Yester--morn and yester--even Met we there and prayed; But now none is there Save the dead lowly laid.'' ``Stranger, underneath that tower, On the western side, A happy, happy company In holy peace abide; My father, and my mother, And my sisters four: Their beds are made in swelling turf Fronting the western door.'' ``Child, if thou speak to them, They will not answer thee; They are deep down in earth,-- Thy face they cannot see. Then wherefore art thou going Over the snowy hill? Why seek thy low--laid family Where they lie cold and still?'' ``Stranger, when the summer heats Would dry their turfy bed, Duly from this loving hand With water it is fed; They must be cleared this morning From the thick--laid snow; So now along the frosted field, Stranger, let me go.''