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When the baby died, On every side Rose strangers' voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud. The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men's eyes might not see Her misery. - Helen Hunt (Helen Hunt Jackson) Those who have lost an infant are never, as it were, without an infant child. Their other children grow up to manhood and womanhood, and suffer all the changes of mortality; but this one alone is rendered an immortal child; for death has arrested it with his kindly harshness, and blessed it into an eternal image of youth and innocence. - Leigh Hunt (James Henry Leigh Hunt) When the baby died we said, With a sudden secret dread; "Death be merciful and pass; Leave the other!"--but alas! While we watched he waited there, One foot on the golden stair One hand beckoning at the gate, Till the home was desolate. - Nora Perry
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