LITTLE EDDIE.
The roving eye might vainly seek
A fairer to behold,
Than little Eddie’s rosy cheek,
When he was eight years old.
And those who love a merry glance,
No brighter eye had seen,
Nor lighter limb to skip and dance,
In meadow or in green.
But Edward’s charms of better kind,
With more delight I praise,
For sweet and gentle was his mind,
And pleasant all his ways.
No angry passions, fierce and wild,
No evil thought or plan,
Had place in this beloved child,
Throughout his little span.
In health and strength he grew, till came
His ninth revolving year,
Then sickness seized his little frame,
And suffering most severe.
For many a month upon his bed,
His feverish hands were laid,
Nor could he raise his aching head
Without his mother’s aid.
Yet patient lay the little boy,
And no repining word,
Or fretful wish for other’s joy,
From Edward’s lip was heard.
Though gentle summer came and strewed
Fresh beauties o’er the earth,
He went not to the field or wood
To share his playmates’ mirth.
Though winter, from the frozen north,
Brought ice and snow along,
Yet little Edward went not forth
To join the merry throng.
The rose departed from his cheek,
The brightness from his eye,
And then his spirit fled to seek
Its Father in the sky;
Who, in his love, from pain and strife
Such little ones doth take,
And give them endless light and life,
For our Redeemer’s sake.
His body to the earth was given,
And rests beneath the sod,
But Eddie’s spirit went to heaven,
To join in praising God.
Long will his many friends approve
His manners, sweet and mild,
And tell his innocence and love
To many a listening child.
His mother’s heart the sad, the sweet
Remembrance doth employ,
And full her trust in heaven to meet
Her blessed little boy.
