Each word of love a child doth speak,
It sows a flower, to bloom
Along its aged parent's path,
Descending to the tomb!

No more may blush the summer's rose
To glad their failing sight;
Nor to the ravished sense, as once,
Its fragrance give delight.

But every word of love they hear
Is treasured in the heart;
A bloom, a fragrance there to shed,
Which never can depart!