Classic Poem

ON THE DEATH OF HIS INFANT SON .

H E sleeps alone — thy first-born son, —
Too beautiful for earth;
He faded with the summer flowers
That smiled upon his birth.

'Twas soon to break the golden chain —
'Twas soon to give him up,
To feel thy dearest wishes crushed,
And drain the bitter cup.

Why was that bud so early nipped,
When life had scarce begun?
Nay! ask thou not, but meekly say,
Father, thy will be done!

And yet how hard to school the heart
When torn by care and pain;
To teach it calmly to endure
And hope for rest again.

Oh! never wilt thou hear again
That infant's lisping tone —
And though within thine arms he slept,
He now must sleep alone.

Alone! no, no! — the body sleeps —
The spirit cannot die;
And his has joined the cherub throng
Beyond the star-lit sky.

When the sweet voice of spring is heard,
And the blue violets bloom;
Go with the partner of thy care
And strew them on his tomb.

The fount of tears may be unsealed,
While ye are gazing there;
But upward turn your thoughts to heaven,
And find sweet peace in prayer.