“I love thee—I love thee—pass under the rod!”
I saw where a father and mother had lean’d
On the arms of a dear gifted son,
And the star in the future grew bright to their gaze,
As they saw the proud place he had won:
And the fast coming evening of life promis’d fair,
And its pathway grew smooth to their feet,
And the starlight of love glimmer’d bright at the end,
And the whispers of fancy were sweet.
But I saw when they stood, bending low o’er the grave,