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And wherefore grieve for this? So much the better: They least befriend the wretched who retard The hour of his release.—Why should I live If Heaven accept my penitence? Hath earth Aught still to raise a wish, or gleam the path Of one so darken'd round with misery?

Nay, say not so: thy child, thy boy, to see him In strength and stature grown,—would not this tempt thee To wish some years of life?

Others shall rear him; others mark his change From the sweet cherub to the playful boy; Shall, with such pity as an orphan claims, Share in his harmless sports and catch his love; Whilst I, if that I live and am by Heaven Permitted, coming as a way-worn stranger, At distant intervals, to gaze upon him, And strain him to my heart, shall from his eye The cold and cheerless stare of wonderment Instead of love receive.

O think not so! he shall be taught to love thee; He shall be taught to lisp thy name, and raise His little hands to Heaven for blessings on thee As one most dear, though absent.