The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1838-07-27 00:00:00

Voetrg.

THE THREE SONS.

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 grave and wise 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 sweet and serious air:
I know his heart is kind and fond, I know lie loveth me,
But loveth yet his mother more with grateful fervency.
But that which others most admire is the thought which fills
his mind,
The food for grave inquiring speech he everywhere loth find.
Strange questions doth he ask of the when we together walk ;
He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk.
Nor cares he much for childi4-oportt—doats out on bat or ball,
But leaks on manhood's ways and works. a odaptly 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, then, are the words
which he will say.
Oh, should my gentle child be sp d's Yeats,
like me,
A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be ;
And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful
brow,
I dare not think what I should feel were Ito 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 bath 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 re-
vealing.
When he walks with 'me, the country folk, who pass us in
the street,
Wiil shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks so mild and
sweet.
A playfellow is be 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 fat heavenly grace as now for earthly love;
And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must dim,
God comfort us for all the love which we shall lose in hint.
I have a son, a third sweet son, his age I cannot- tell,
For they reckon not by years and months 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 sinful soul, the bliss which he duth
feel,
Are numbered with the secret things which God will not re-
veal.
But I know, for God hath told me this, that he is now at rest,
Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour's loving
breast.
Whate'er befall his brethren twain, his bliss can never cease;
Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his is certain peace.
It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls from bliss may
sever,
But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must be ours fur ever.
When we think of what our darling is, and what he still
must be :
When we muse. on TWAT world's perfect bliss, and THIS
world's misery :
When we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel this grief
and pain,
Oh, we'd rather lose our other two, than have hips here
again.
Rev. J. MOULTRIE.