While o’er thine infancy thy mother smiled,
A thousand wishes all her thoughts beguiled:
To see thine opening youth to manhood grow,
To watch the bud expand and fully blow,
Was all her care,-but God had marked her doom,
And Death’s cold hand conveyed her to the tomb!
Yet still, dear boy, one anxious parent lives;
Heaven, all indulgent, yet a treasure gives:
Be his thy will, learn early to obey,
And may he ever bless thy natal day!
(Edward Henry Bickersteth)
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