"Our boys grew up to help us; our boys—their mother's pride;
And ne'er a cloud came o'er our joys until our first-born died.
"A village sprung up near the farm; steam engines whistled by;
And the dusky serpent trailed its fumes along our placid sky.
"Then your father brought a fair young wife, our waning hours to cheer;
Her face was sweet as daffodil, her voice as song-bird's clear.
"But one morn there came a message,—Joe! you remember all;
And grandma heard it cheerfully, and answered to the call.
"My love! who loved me ever, from morn till gloaming grey,
Dear heart! who never murmured o'er the home of early day.
"For though she loved the olden land with love that knew no change,
With fuller life her sympathies found freer, broader range.
"The kind eyes closed, the busy hands were crossed on silent breast;
And reverently her mourning sons conveyed her to her rest.
"Beside her first-born on the hill—and there I hope to lie
When the blessed Lord doth summon me to meet her in the sky."
He looked upon the tasseled corn, the richest crop all round,
Then wistfully he gazed beyond to the now hallowed ground
Where slept his past; he faintly sighed, then bowed his agèd head;—
The children strove to rouse him but—the loved grandsire was dead.