It were so sweet, amid death’s gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!
‘And now farewell! ’tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee.
And thy dark sin—oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee—
May God have called thee like a wanderer home,
My erring Absalom!’
He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child; then giving him