MY second born, my gentle,
My sweet and precious boy,
Sent to us, in our darkling day,
To be our bosoms' joy;
How like a sunbeam, to our hearts,
Thy beauty, in our eyes,
Dispelling every cloud, that spreads
Its sackcloth, on the skies.Be ever thus, my blessing,
So patient and so meek
So careful always, what to do,
So thoughtful what to speak;
Till grown in wisdom, as in years,
Through His abounding grace,
He take thee,--'tis my fondest prayer--
To fill a deacon's place.How sweet, should He permit it,
To lean on thy stout arm
Thy silver-voicéd litany,
Mine ear, how it will charm
Said, when my days are numbered all,
And all my labours, done;
My death-bed, with the Church's prayers,
Console and cheer, my son!March 2, 1844.
Project Canterbury