 | Poems of reflection |  |
159
IN MEMORY OF CHARLIE SPAULDING.
Aged 6 years and 5 months; died July 4, 1875.
With eyes that scarce can see for tears,
We look back o'er the little space
Of baby Charlie's life. Six years
Since first we looked upon his face.
We look back o'er the little space
Of baby Charlie's life. Six years
Since first we looked upon his face.
Six years since from the angel band
Our little cherub strayed away.
We did not know or understand
He was but lent, and could not stay.
Our little cherub strayed away.
We did not know or understand
He was but lent, and could not stay.
We looked into his lovely eyes,
So large, so soulful, and so deep,
And knew he came from God's own skies,
And thought that he was our's to keep.
So large, so soulful, and so deep,
And knew he came from God's own skies,
And thought that he was our's to keep.
But angels missed him 'round the Throne
And ere his earthly years were seven,
Christ called him, leaving us alone,
To turn our sorrowing hearts to Heaven.
And ere his earthly years were seven,
Christ called him, leaving us alone,
To turn our sorrowing hearts to Heaven.
For now, no matter what may come,
Wealth, fortune, honors, earthly bliss,
No place can seem to us like home,
Hereafter save where Charlie is.
Wealth, fortune, honors, earthly bliss,
No place can seem to us like home,
Hereafter save where Charlie is.
160
Life could not grow so warm, so bright,
No circumstances bring such joy,
But that our thoughts each morn and night
Would turn to Heaven and our boy.
No circumstances bring such joy,
But that our thoughts each morn and night
Would turn to Heaven and our boy.
The thought that we may meet him there,
And walk with him the heavenly plain
Alone can keep us from despair,
And bring us comfort in our pain.
And walk with him the heavenly plain
Alone can keep us from despair,
And bring us comfort in our pain.
For Arthur, who is left below,
Are many thorny paths to tread.
His lips must drink of grief and woe;
Not so with Charlie, who is dead.
Are many thorny paths to tread.
His lips must drink of grief and woe;
Not so with Charlie, who is dead.
For Arthur there must be, at best,
Full many an hour of gloom and sorrow;
For Charlie, dwelling with the blest,
Joy only, through an endless morrow.
Full many an hour of gloom and sorrow;
For Charlie, dwelling with the blest,
Joy only, through an endless morrow.
Walking the golden streets above,
He watches o'er us ever more.
God grant through Christ's redeeming love,
We yet may meet him on that shore.
He watches o'er us ever more.
God grant through Christ's redeeming love,
We yet may meet him on that shore.
The thought of death is very sweet—
The grave can have no chill or gloom
For those who have a child to meet
Beyond in fields of living bloom.
The grave can have no chill or gloom
For those who have a child to meet
Beyond in fields of living bloom.
| Poems of reflection | |