"I have lost the baby upon my breast,
With its helpless cry, and its tiny hand
Holding fast by mine through the mighty walk
From Babyhood into Children's Land.
"I have lost the boy, with his merry shout
Ringing out glad songs on the shattered air,
Till its echoes fainter and finer grew
In the vale of Youth, by its fountains fair.
"I have lost the scholar whose eager feet
Trod careless down all the childish days,
Then, falt'ring, fell on the blossom-heap,
With hands unclosed from its gathered bays.
"So I bow and weep o'er the single grave,
So I take the cross that is set for me;
But a triple shadow is on the grave,
And the heavy cross beareth branches three.
"So I try to think, as I keep my watch
Above the sods of my darling's grave,
Should I choose, if I might, the stripling lost—
The child I kept, or the babe He gave—
"To come down close on the river-shore,
When I call his name from the darker brink,
Nay, this I leave to his Lord and mine,
Content to join him by either link."
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