on the death of the marquis of hastings.
63
Oh! Father, "I'll be both good and kind,
Till you return to us again:"—
Alas! poor child, a heavenly Hand Divine
Hath thy loved wishes made in vain!
Till you return to us again:"—
Alas! poor child, a heavenly Hand Divine
Hath thy loved wishes made in vain!
Ne'er again shall the arms of the fond wife
Clasp him she loved once more;—
For he has given that precious soul and life
To preserve the flag he bore!
Clasp him she loved once more;—
For he has given that precious soul and life
To preserve the flag he bore!
How little she thought those tear bedew'd lines
Would cheer her husband's dying hour:—
How little she dreamt the Great Hand Divine
Would blight her heart's most cherish'd flower!
Would cheer her husband's dying hour:—
How little she dreamt the Great Hand Divine
Would blight her heart's most cherish'd flower!
'Tis the dying soldier, and his God alone,
On the rivers ever dark'ning shore,
Who can only know the bitter thoughts of home,
In the last fleeting hours he bore.
On the rivers ever dark'ning shore,
Who can only know the bitter thoughts of home,
In the last fleeting hours he bore.
For wife and child ere he turns to die,
A parting prayer the soldier yields;
He alone could hear that wild yearning cry,
On dark Sedan's blood-stained, fatal field!
A parting prayer the soldier yields;
He alone could hear that wild yearning cry,
On dark Sedan's blood-stained, fatal field!
