Dear Sidney chatted merrily on the way
Not knowing what within our bosom lay:
'Twas hard to answer to his prattling words
With but the tearful tribute grief affords.
Poor child! God bless him! We devoutly pray
He ne'er may feel what father felt that day.
We came to where there had been laid to rest
The form, now cold, that we had known was blessed
To hold a pure and lovely spirit-bud
That went to blossom in the home of God.