My son, thou wast my heart’s delight, Thy morn of life was gay and cheery; That morn has rushed to sudden night, Thy father’s house is sad and dreary. I held thee on my knee, my son! And kissed thee laughing, kissed thee weeping; But ah! thy little day is done, Thou ’rt with thy angel sister sleeping. The staff, on which my years should lean, Is broken, ere those years come o’er me; My funeral rites thou shouldst have seen, But thou art in the tomb before me. Thou rear’st to me no filial stone, No parent’s grave with tears beholdest; Thou art my ancestor, my son! And stand’st in Heaven’s account the oldest. On earth my lot was soonest cast, Thy generation after mine, Thou hast thy predecessor past; Earlier eternity is thine. I should have set before thine eyes The road to Heaven, and showed it clear; But thou untaught spring’st to the skies, And leav’st thy teacher lingering here. Sweet Seraph, I would learn of thee, And hasten to partake thy bliss! And oh! to thy world welcome me, As first I welcomed thee to this. Dear Angel, thou art safe in heaven; No prayers for thee need more be made; Oh! let thy prayers for those be given Who oft have blessed thy infant head. My father! I beheld thee born, And led thy tottering steps with care; Before me risen to Heaven’s bright morn, My son! my father! guide me there.
On the Death of My Son Charles
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My son, thou wast my heart’s delight, Thy morn of life was gay and cheery; That morn has rushed to sudden night, Thy father’s house is sad and dreary. I held thee on my knee, my son! And kissed thee laughing, kissed thee weeping; But ah! thy little day is done, Thou ’rt with thy angel... |