Page:Poems for Children Sigourney 1836.pdf/81

 

He hath a happy cherub's smile, He hath a robe of white, He gathers ever-blooming flowers, Which no cold storm may blight.

'T was sweet to take him in my arms, And watch his laughing eyes, But he has found more perfect joy Above the cloudless skies.

Our blessed grandsire is in Heaven, For so my parents said, With him my darling brother lives, O say not, he is dead.

 

My little son, my little son, God give his grace to thee, 