The Three Children

The Three Children

I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old,
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould.
They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears -
That my child is wise and grave of heart, beyond his childish years.
I cannot say how this may be; I know his face is fair,
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his grave and serious air.
I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me,
And loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fervency;
But that which others most admire, is the thought that fills his mind.
The food for grave inquiring speech, he every where doth find.
Strange questions he doth ask me, when we together walk;
He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk.
Nor cares he much for childish sports - dotes not on bat and ball,
But looks on manhoods ways and works, and aptly mimics all.
His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes perplext
With thoughts about this world of ours, and thoughts about the next.
He kneels at his dear mother's knee - she teacheth him to pray;
And strange, and sweet, and solemn, are the words which he will say.
O! should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years, like me,
A holier and a wiser man, I pray that he may be;
And while I look into his eyes, and stroke his youthful brow,
I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now!
I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three;
I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be -
How silver sweet those tones of his, when he prattles on my knee.
I do not think his light blue eye is, like his brother's keen,
Nor his brow so full of childish thought, as his has ever been.
But his little heart's a fountain pure of kind and tender feeling;
And his every look's a gleam of light, rich depths of love revealing.
When he walks with me, the country folks who pass us in the street,
Will shout for joy, and bless my boy - he looks so mild and sweet.
A play-fellow he is to all, and yet with cheerful tone,
Will sing his little song of love, when left to sport alone.
His presence is like sunshine, sent to gladden HOME, the earth -
To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all our mirth.
Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his heart may prove,
As sweet a home for heavenly grace, as now for earthly love;
And if beside his grave, the tears our aching hearts must dim,
God comfort us for all the love which we shall lose in him!
I have a son, a third sweet son - His age I cannot tell -
For they reckon not by months and years where he has gone to dwell.
To us for fourteen anxious months his infant smiles were given,
And then he bade farewell to earth, and went to live in heaven.
I cannot tell what form is his, what looks he weareth now,
Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow.
The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss that he doth feel,
Are number'd with the secret things that God will not reveal.
But I know - for God hath told me this - that he is now at rest,
Where other blessed infants be - on his Saviour's loving breast.
Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss can never cease,
Their lot may here be grief and pain, but his is certain peace.
It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls from bliss may sever,
But if our poor faith fail not, he will be ours for ever!
When we think of what our darling is, and what we still must be,
When we must on that world's blessedness, and this world's misery;
When we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel this grief and pain -
O! we would rather lose the other two, than have him here again!

Moultree (John Moultrie)

New Series 1:51, p. 4

1841.02.20

From the Scottish Christian Herald

The ensuing poem we have extracted from the Scottish Christian Herald, for November, 1840 - and a precious parental remembrancer it is, for the fireside, in the families of the believers in Jesus, the resurrection and the life.