Before they reached the throne of God?
What being o’er the cradle leans,
Where innocence in anguish lies;
Writhing in its untold pains—
That feels not awful thoughts arise!
’Tis dreadful eloquence to all
Whose hearts are not of marble stone—
Such eloquence as could not fall
E’en from the tongue of Massillon.
Their ills are o’er—a father’s cares—