THE BEREAVED FATHER TO HIS SON.
Dear miniature of her I loved and lost,
Come to thy father’s almost broken heart!
Come, lay thy lovely head upon my breast,
And let me smooth thy golden ringlets down,
As I have seen thy sainted mother do!
Ah me! those dear soft hands lie mouldering,
Now clasp’d upon her still, unconscious breast!
Would I could sing for thee, my orphan boy,
As I have heard thy sainted mother sing!