My Little Boy that Died.
Look his pretty face for just one
minute !1
His braided frock and dainty buttoned shoes—2
His firm-shut hand, the favourite plaything in
it-3
Then tell me, mothers, was’t not hard to lose4
And miss him from my side—5
My little boy that died
?6
How many another boy, as dear and charming,7
His father’s hope, his mother’s one delight,8
Slips through strange sicknesses ; all fear disarming,9
And lives a long, long life in parents’ sight,10
Mine was so short a pride !—11
And then—my poor boy died.12
I see him rocking on his wooden charger ;13
I hear him pattering through the house all day
;14
I watch his great blue eyes grow large and larger,15
Listening to stories, whether grave or gay,16
Told at the bright fire-side—17
So dark now, since he died.18
But yet I often think my boy is living,19
As living as my other children are.20
When good-night kisses I all round am giving,21
I keep one for him, though he is so far.22
Can a mere grave divide23
Me from him—though he died ?24
So, while I come and plant it o’er with daisies—25
(Nothing but childish daisies all year round)—26
Continually God’s hand the curtain raises27
And I can hear his merry voice’s sound,28
And feel him at my side—29
My little boy that died.30