My Dear Little Girl Who Died by Mrs. J. C. Brower

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Dec 14, 1916

My Dear Little Girl Who Died

By Mrs. J. C. Brower

MRS. J. C. BROWER

As I open my book and turn its leaves, My mind from the present flies, For I see a flower drawn by childish hands, With leaves of a wondrous size, And I think of that eve, not long ago, When she drew it by my side; And my eyes grow dim, and my heart aches sore, For my dear little girl who died.

Her dollies stare with unseeing eyes From their place in the cozy nook, And the Little Friend unopened lies By the side of the Sabbath Book. The story hour is a lonely hour, Full of longing and tears and pain For my happy child with her eager mind Who can never come back again.

Oh, many the tales that I long to tell In response to her eager pleas, “Tell me a story, or read me one, From the Bible, mother, please.” I miss her warm little form, close pressed, Her golden head near mine, As we read and talked of the home above, Where such wondrous glories shine.

But a day is nearing, a long, glad day, When the Lord himself will come To gather his jewels from far and near To their peaceful, blessed home, Then the angels will bring to my waiting arms My darling, my love and pride; And never again she'll be borne away, My own little girl who died.