Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/177



, that of woman born, Mother-sorrow didst not scorn, Thou, with whose last anguish strove One dear thought of earthly love; Hear and aid!

Low he lies, my precious child, With his spirit wandering wild From its gladsome tasks and play, And its bright thoughts far away:— Saviour, aid!

Pain sits heavy on his brow, E'en though slumber seal it now;