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...
If stores of dry and learnèd lore we gain,
We keep them in the memory of the brain;
Names, things, and facts,—whate’er we knowledge call,—
There is the common ledger for them all;
And images on this cold surface traced
Make slight impression, and are soon effaced.
But we ’ve a page, more glowing and more bright,
On which our friendship...
