Whose tongue of kindness never knew a dearth
Of soothing words that could our griefs allay—
Even him who listened to our prattling mirth,
Who early taught our infant lips to pray,
And led our tottering steps to walk in wisdom’s way:
A parent is indeed a tender friend,
And, if once lost, we never more shall find
A bosom that so tremblingly can blend
Its feelings with our own congenial mind;
Our lips may speak their anguish to the wind