Going To Sleep

The little seventeen month's old daugthter oL Mr. and Mrs. Moore, of Detroit formerly of this city, died in Detroit and the remains were brought here for interinen t in Forest Hill cemetery, Monday, September 9th. Mrs. E. K. Sunderland read the following poem at the grave for the comforting of the bereaved friends: After the day's long playing, Tired as t'red can be, My baby girl comes saying. "Papa, will 'ou rock me? The busy works of daytime Allure her now no more; The books and toys of playtime Are scattered round the Hoor. Off new with shoeand stocking. Off with the crvimpled dress; She's ready now for rocking, For crooning and earess. And slowly staking, staking, The night comes down the skies, While drooping, opening, winking. Sleep settles on her oyes. She does not the sleeping; Out o' er the sea of daik, Close held in papa's keeping, She driftsin her f rail bark. No matter for the morrow; Enough that papa knows. Withsmile undimmed by sorrow, Out in the dark she goes. So should it be with dying: Drop earthly cares and fears; In father's arras you're lying; Look up with smiles, not tears. You know not of the waking? Be not with fear beguiled ; For, when the morniiiK'H breaking, He'll not forget his child.