On The Death Of A Little Girl Poem by Peter John Allan

Open, ye gates of Paradise,
Be sheathed, O flaming sword.
She comes, the gentle sinless child,
To meet her sinless Lord.
Ye angels, greet her by the way,
Wreathe flowers amid her hair;
Let the voice of song go forth through heaven,
For a soul releas'd from care.

A guileless heart was hers on earth,
It look'd through smiling eyes,
And her laugh was like the wild bird's note
That floats in summer skies.
Stilled is that little loving heart,
And dim those eyes of blue,
Echo has lost your happy laugh,
And I, dear infant, you.

But it is better she is gone,
Ere yet by earth defiled,
No sin, no grief can harass her,
She now is Jesu's child.
Be this her mother's comfort here,
Her thought by day and night,
She who was once her Isabel,
Is now an angel bright.

With falling leaves and fading flowers
That loveliest flower decayed,
As autumn now on field and grove
His head had rudely laid.
The flowers and leaves will come again,
But she'll return, no never;
A blossom on the tree of life,
Where summer is for ever.