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BEREAVED

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jun 2, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 22.

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BEREAVED

By James Whitcomb Riley

LET me come where you sit weeping—aye, Let me, who have not any child to die, Weep with you for the little one whose love I have known nothing of.
The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed Their pressure round your neck—the hands you used To kiss—such arms, such hands, I never knew. May I not weep with you?
Fain would I be of service, say something Between the tears that would be comforting, But ah! so sadder than yourselves am I Who have no child to die.
—James Whitcomb Riley.