ive summers bright our noble boy
Was lent us for our household joy;
Then came the fated, wintry hour
Of death, and blighted our sweet flower.

They told me, "Weep not, for thy gem
Is fixed in Christ's own diadem;
His speedy feet the race have run,
The foe have 'scaped, the goal have won."

I chode the murmurs of my breast
With this dear thought; and then addressed
My steps to wait upon the Lord
And with his saints to hear his Word.
Then, thus I heard their anthem flow:
"Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

But how, I said, can this sad heart,
In joyful praises bear its part?
It hath no joy; it naught can do
But mourn its loss and tell its woe.

And then I thought, What if thy lost
Is now among that heavenly host,
And with the angel choir doth sing,
"Glory to thee, Eternal King ?'

But is not this a hope too sweet?
Faith is too weak the joy to meet;
Oh! might my bursting heart but see
If true the blissful thought can be!

Oh! that for once mine ear might hear
That tiny voice, so high, so clear,
Singing Emmanuel's name among
Those louder strains, that mightier throng.

Oh! that but once mine eyes could see
That smile which here was wont to be
The sunshine of my heart, made bright
With Jesus' love, with Heaven's light.

Then would my burdened heart, 1 know,
With none but tears of joy o'erflow
But ah! when faith would strain her eyes
For that blest vision, there arise

The shadows of my deary home;
'Twixt Heaven and my heart there come
That dying bed, that corpse, that bier
And when I strive that song to hear,

Sad memory echoes but the wail
My love to soothe could naught avail;
I only hear his anguished cry,
I only see his glazing eye.

But yet be still, tumultuous heart,
And bravely bear thy destined part,
Yet will I say, stay there, my son;
And to my Lord, Thy will be done.

'Tis not for sight and sense to know
Those scenes of glory here below;
But be it ours to walk by faith,
And credit what our Saviour saith.

Let patience work till we be meet
To dwell in bliss at Jesus' feet;
Then death, once dreaded, friendly come,
And bear us to our lost one's home.

Then shall that glorious hour repay
The woes of all that dreary way,
And I shall hear forever more
My seraph boy his God adore.

Yea, he shall teach this voice to raise,
As angels taught him, Heaven's lays;
And I, who once his steps did lead,
Shall follow him to Christ, our Head.

ur Lord had lent to us a blessed child,
Of face and form most fair, of spirit mild,
Yet bright and strong. Throughout ten happy years
She grew into our hearts, 'mid joys and fears,
And as she grew, 'twas ever yet more plain
The spirit's grace had purged the natal stain
Derived from us, from her infantile soul.
The grace grew with her growth, to faith's control,
Obedience, purity, and love's submiss,
Which made her childhood's days a saintly bliss.
But as the cloudless day preludes the storm,
So midst her bloom there fell upon her form
A creeping blight, so stealthy, sallow, slow,
Ere we had feared, the fever laid her low;
Then turned I, weeping, to my Lord in prayer:
O Thou, who never didst refuse to hear,
When on our earth, the guilty suppliant's voice,
But madest each petitioner rejoice,
E'en though by miracle, with succor swift,
Divine Physician, give us now this gift,
The life of our dear lamb! 0 come and heal
Our sufferer, nor spurn our sore appeal.
Then to my spirit came an answering word,
Not to the outward sense, but from the Lord,
To faith's clear vision: Knowest thou, old man,
What thou dost ask? Shall I extend the span
Of this dear life to four-score weary years,
And fill them, like thine own, with many tears,
And fleeting joys, and long enduring pains,
To stray and sin before temptation's strain,
And then with shame to dutys path,
To toil and lose, and bear the victor's wrath,
Helpless and slandered, while it drinks the gall
Of sore bereavements; then, as end of all,
Through darksome days and listless years to pine?
Which is the wiser love, or thine or mine,
Should I elect to lift her to my arms,
By briefest conflict, safe from earthly harms,
And for her teachers seraphim prefer
To thy poor schooling? But thou lovest her!
Is not my love more wise and strong,
As tears are cheaper than my blood divine,
Shed for her soul upon the dreadful tree?
Thou weepest! But I died on Calvary
That she might live.
Then, prone before the heavenly voice, I said,
Teach me, 0 Christ. to pray as thou hast prayed,
When in thy extremity of woe:
'Spare me, 0 Father, if it may be so,
That I this cup of bitter grief may shun.
If not, then let thy holy will be done,
Not mine.' We see that goodness infinite
Doth choose, and too boundless to permit
Aught but the best for us. Then fell great peace
Upon our troubled breasts, not by our cease
Of love parental,this but deeper grew,
But by the growth of love and faith more true.
Then, as with chastened hearts we watched and prayed,
New, blessed hope was born, the plague was stayed,
The ebbing tide of life stood still, then stole
Back to its channels. Lo! I the sick was whole.
What thankfulness, 0 Father, can befit
Thy mercy so beyond our hope, so sweet?
Thy precious loan we consecrate anew,
By a new baptism. May our vows be true,
Our earthly schooling like to that above,
From which our prayers detain her, and our love,
For Heaven postponed, a compensation prove.