IN MEMORY.
251
Dear little boy! he can not know The tender care his life has lost;The portal of a father's heart His tiny feet had scarcely crossed.
Sometimes when tears are dropping fast Upon my folded, listless hands,And bitter anguish rends my heart, A childish form beside me stands.My little De, with trembling lips, And curling lashes wet with tears,Speaks words of comfort to my soul, In wisdom far beyond his years.
Of all the three, I think for him My heart sends up its brightest flame;Perhaps it is because he wears His dear, dead father's honored name.I give my boy a love so deep It trembles down almost to pain;In him I fancy I can see My own lost childhood rise again.
And though beneath the cruel cross My heart in anguish seems to break,
