Thy brothers are joining in boisterous play,
And, shouting aloud, are bounding away
To chase, with thy sisters, the bee on the wing,
And to laugh, and to dance, and merrily sing;
But thy mother is gazing, in agony wild,
On.the face of her boy, so calm, yet so mild,
And bows her crushed heart, and finds sweet relief
In deep scalding tears—the balm for all grief.
And, shouting aloud, are bounding away
To chase, with thy sisters, the bee on the wing,
And to laugh, and to dance, and merrily sing;
But thy mother is gazing, in agony wild,
On.the face of her boy, so calm, yet so mild,
And bows her crushed heart, and finds sweet relief
In deep scalding tears—the balm for all grief.
Thy couch is spread over with flowerets fair,
And wreaths of sweet jasmine are twined in thy hair;
But thy dark eyes forever are closed to the light,
And thine own mother's face imparts no delight;
She whispers thy name in tenderest tone,
But hears no sweet voice respond to her own;
Thy little pale hands are tossed in thy pain;
But O, my dear child, to die will be gain.
And wreaths of sweet jasmine are twined in thy hair;
But thy dark eyes forever are closed to the light,
And thine own mother's face imparts no delight;
She whispers thy name in tenderest tone,
But hears no sweet voice respond to her own;
Thy little pale hands are tossed in thy pain;
But O, my dear child, to die will be gain.
