WILLIE.
His little tottering feet are still,
His music-laugh is o'er,
His form's not seen upon the sill—
Dear Willie is no more.
A moment stood he 'midst the harms
That throng in earth's abode;
Then passed from his poor mother's arms.
Into the arms of God.
His music-laugh is o'er,
His form's not seen upon the sill—
Dear Willie is no more.
A moment stood he 'midst the harms
That throng in earth's abode;
Then passed from his poor mother's arms.
Into the arms of God.
His cap has vanished from the wall,
His playthings from the floor;
But mournful memories they recall,
Since Willie is no more.
Yet, though the form is hidden now,
Beneath the cold gray sod,
Uplifted is that angel brow,
To meet the smile of God.
His playthings from the floor;
But mournful memories they recall,
Since Willie is no more.
Yet, though the form is hidden now,
Beneath the cold gray sod,
Uplifted is that angel brow,
To meet the smile of God.
Then bow your chastened spirits down,
And His great will adore;
Who bears the cross shall wear the crown,
Though Willie is no more.
And His great will adore;
Who bears the cross shall wear the crown,
Though Willie is no more.
