THE LITTLE BOY I LOST.
61
The baby fingers slipped from mine, A strong hand clasps my own instead.
The boy I once bent down to kiss Must bend to kiss his mother now;The golden curls no longer cling In clustered glory on his brow.A man among the world of men, My little son, no longer mine;The very life within my heart Is offered on another shrine.
The world has taken from my arms The treasure God himself hath spared;The pure, sweet love I thought all mine It seems, at best, I only shared.The shining curl of golden hair That I have kept so many years—I look upon it sadly now, And dim its beauty with my tears.
The children lying in their graves Asleep beyond the rippling sea;The treasures that I gave to God Seem nearer to me now than he.
