Not Lost But Gone Before.

Died, August 17th, little Florence, infant daughter of Mr. and Mrs. R. F. Bradford. Aged six months. A few short weeks ago and a happy home was made glad and bright by the cooing laughter of a darling baby girl, but soon the angel of death hovered on the threshold casting his black shadows of dread over the hearts of its inmates, and as the days glide by he draws nearer and nearer, and at last stoops low over the baby’s crib and seals the eyes and lips of the pet of the household with his icy kisses.

Methinks I see a hand of white robed angels bear the spirit of little Florence away, up through the gleaming gates of pearl, adown the streets of pure gold and place the new made angel in the great loving arms of Jesus. Weep not, o, parents, your home nest may be robbed of the tenderest birdling, but your baby blossom has gone to sing, and bloom, and shine in the beautiful perennial gardens of paradise.

There is only a few more partings and disappointments, a few more glimpses of sunshine and shadow and you, too, will join the loved ones “not lost but gone before.”

“Oh when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
In over payment of delight?”