PARTING OF A MOTHER WITH HER CHILD.
He knew her not, that fair young boy,
Though cradled on her breast,
He caught his earliest infant smile,
And nightly sank to rest,
For stern disease had changed the brow
Once to his gaze so dear,
And to a whisper sunk the voice
That best he loved to hear.
So, stranger-like, he wondering gazed,
While wild emotions swell,
As with a deathlike, cold embrace,
She breathed a last farewell,
And to[1] the Almighty's hand gave back
The idols of her trust,
And with a joyful hope went down
To slumber in the dust.
Go, blooming babe, and fondly seek
The path she trod below,
And, girt with Christian meekness, learn
To pluck the sting from woe—
That so, to that all-glorious clime,
Unmarked by pain or care,
Thou, in thy Saviour's strength mayest come
And know thy mother there.
