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119
THE PARENT'S LOST JEWEL.
Alas! thou art gone; and thy bright form of clay,
Dark, silent, and cold, is from sight borne away!
The light is gone out from thy mild, beaming eye,
To shine from the face of a cherub on high.
Our lone, precious jewel fond love could not save;
Thou 'rt plucked from our hold, for the skies and the grave!
Dark, silent, and cold, is from sight borne away!
The light is gone out from thy mild, beaming eye,
To shine from the face of a cherub on high.
Our lone, precious jewel fond love could not save;
Thou 'rt plucked from our hold, for the skies and the grave!
Thou sweet bud of promise, a dew-sparkling gem,
In life's rosy morn left alone on the stem;
Our heart-strings were snapped, when to earth thou wast cast,
Cut off at a blow, as the pale angel passed!
Thine essence went up from the scarce-opening bloom,
And left thy frail cup to the mansion of gloom.
In life's rosy morn left alone on the stem;
Our heart-strings were snapped, when to earth thou wast cast,
Cut off at a blow, as the pale angel passed!
Thine essence went up from the scarce-opening bloom,
And left thy frail cup to the mansion of gloom.
We clasp thee in dreams, till awaked by the dawn;
When, here is our woe, and our day-spring is gone.
Our brightness, our beauty, our hope, and our joy,
Our one cheering day-beam, wast thou, darling boy!
But all were borne off by the soft-passing breath
That fled thy pure lips at the cold kiss of death.
When, here is our woe, and our day-spring is gone.
Our brightness, our beauty, our hope, and our joy,
Our one cheering day-beam, wast thou, darling boy!
But all were borne off by the soft-passing breath
That fled thy pure lips at the cold kiss of death.
We know He who made thee recalled but his own,
Though clouds and thick darkness encompass his throne.
Yet light breaketh out!—there descends through the shade
A fair, bright-winged child, all in glory arrayed!
'T is thou!—a sweet mission thou com'st to fulfil,—
To hid our grieved spirits lie down and be still!
Though clouds and thick darkness encompass his throne.
Yet light breaketh out!—there descends through the shade
A fair, bright-winged child, all in glory arrayed!
'T is thou!—a sweet mission thou com'st to fulfil,—
To hid our grieved spirits lie down and be still!
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