Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/103



Can I, who have for others oft compiled The songs of Death, forget my sweetest child ? Which like a flower crusht, with a blast is dead, And ere full time hangs down his smiling head. Expecting with clear hope to live anew Among the angels fed with heavenly dew. We have this sign of joy, that many days, While on the earth his struggling spirit stays, The name of Jesus in his mouth contains His only food, his sleep, his ease from pains. O may that sound be rooted in my mind Of which in him such strong effect I find.

Rh