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I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old,
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould. They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears,
That my child is grave and wise of heart beyond his childish
I cannot say how this may be, I know his face is fair,
The food for grave inquiring speech he everywhere doth find.
He kneels at his dear mother's knee, she teacheth him to pray, And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are the words which he will say.
O should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like
A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be:
And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow,
I dare not think what I should feel were I to lose him now.
I have a son, a second son: a simple child of three,
I do not think his light blue eye is like his brother's keen,
When he walks with me, the country folk, who pass us in the street,
Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks so mild and
A playfellow he is to all, and yet with cheerful tone,
As sweet a home for heavenly grace as now for earthly love: And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must dim, God comfort us for all the love which we shall lose in him.
I have a son,-a third sweet son, his age I cannot tell, For they reckon not by months and years, where he is gone to
To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given,
Are number'd with the secret things which God will not reveal.
But I know (for God hath told me this) that he is now at rest, Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour's loving breast.