Kids Poems » The Dying Child’s Request

A little boy, laid sick and low,
Looked up with languid eye,
And spake as one who seemed to know
He now was called to die.

He said, " Dear mother, do not grieve
That I must leave you here ;
For you, and every friend I leave,
Will then be doubly dear.

" There's something tells me I must go
Where Christ prepares a home,
To which you all, left now below,
In little while shall come.

"To brother- -sister- -playmates too,
Some gift I'd leave behind,
To keep me, when I've passed from view,
Still present to their mind.

" You '11 thus to them my books divide,
My playthings give away
So they '11 remember how I died,
When not so old as they.

" Then from my money-box you 11 take
The little coins within,
To use as means, for Jesus' sake,
In turning souls from sin.

“Twould make the heavenly hosts rejoice,
And sing to Jesus' name,
To hear some little heathen's voice
His saving love proclaim.

" My breath is faint- -I'm dark and chill;
Soft wings seem hovering nigh :
Come, all, and promise me, you still
Will love me, if I die.

"Oh, mother ! tell me- -what is this?
Your forms I cannot see !
Come, each, and warm me with a kiss ;
The angels bend for me !”

The morning sun shone in, to light
The chamber where he lay ;
The soul that made that form so bright,
To Heaven had passed away.


International Short Story Writing Contest for School Children