Epitaph, Poem by Samuel Bamford

Epitaph,



'Lie low, and thou shalt have good rest, my child,'
Spake his fond mother, as she smooth'd his bed;
The long-enduring sufferer meekly smil'd.
At morn, his corpse was there, his spirit fled!
And so, indeed, the patient child found rest,
His dust with dust, his soul with angels blest!

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