Thine own wrung heart, to love restored,
Shall soften as they flow.
Oh! death is mighty to make peace;
Now bid his work be done!
So many an inward strife shall cease—
Take, take these babes, my son!”
His eye was dimm’d—the strong man shook
With feelings long suppress’d;
Up in his arms the boys he took,
And strain’d them to his breast.