Delaware State journal and statesman., 1862-02-11


And the fathers heart runs over the earth
In search of the wandering sou.
"Oh where is our poor boy Tonight
This night so bleak and wild :"
The mother shuts her ryes to the Hight,
And July prays for her child
The busy needles all cease their flight,
While their hearts say. "Where is he ?'
They dream moi he bas sunken from sight,
Down, down, down in the sea.
The mother may pray, and she may weep
Till she weep her life away,
l,nt never more will she lind the sheep
That willully went astray.
Somebody's child is lost tonight.
Oh sorrow is on the day
When yiegins fame is marrd with blight
That cannot be cleansed away.
An BUNDLED family sit in the gloom,
Bemoaning their hopeless shame
Would that she were snte in the tomb
With honor upon her name
While deckd in garments of satin aud sin,
The fallen daughter, ! ween,
Is scorch'd with fever Of heart within,
Though reigaing as wanton-queen.
O merciful Father is this the child
Thy hand created so fair,
With eyes where simple Innocence smiled,
Aud coy and maidenly air
Is this the promising mOrning-fower,
The brightest its rivals among?
Is this the bird that sang in the bower
With sweetest and merriest tongue
All me this child is more than lost
For her low-falen form,
On sin's vOluptu0us surges tost,
Will perish in passions storm.
And the mother may sigh, and she may weeT
Till sho weep her life awny,
But never more will she find the sheep
That wickedly went astray.
Somebody's child is lost Tonight
A widow only son,
With brow as light and eye as bright
AS you ever look'd upon.
''And he will he my staff and stay
Her words were iny spoken
"When am uld, aud my hair is gray,
And my natural strength is broken"
Her motherly soul with pride o'erran,
Az tile lad grew up to the estate of man,
AZ she said in her joy,
That nobody's boy
Could match her paragon by span.
Time stole along, and her locks were gray,
But her heart had lost its pride;
For the man had wander'd so far astray,
'Twere better the boy had died
A lOalheome, vile, and gibbering thing,
Slung by the fatal still-worm's sting,
Despised of man, cOnlemning God,
And guashiDg at the avenging rod
Whefewith his passions scOurged him sore,
Till, iainting, he could feel no more,-
All somebody's child was lost in him
When he took up
The wassail cup,
And sipp'd perditon from it's brim.
Then his manhood died,
And the beautiful boy
Of his mothers pride
Spilrl in the sand the cup Of her Joy
Instead, she quaff'd
A wormwood draught,
A sorely-smitten woman;
Yet loved she still,
Through every i'll,
The child so scarcely human.
10 wearness and watchings often,
UnmuTmuringly her grief she bore,
Until, unwrapt in shroUd or coffin,
Her son lay dead before her door.
Her sorrows had come so thick and fast
They CLUSTERED round her everywhere,
Till, reason utterly overcast,
Tho darkness hid away her care.
Yet ofttmes would she ask for one
Long gone from home, her beautiful son;
And while she ohided his long delay,
She would sigh, and whimper, and pray.
That mother will Sigh, and she will weep
Till she weep her life away;
But never more will she find the sheep
That wickedly went astrsy.
80 many children are lost tonight
That /, even /, could weep
As hear the breathings, soft and light,
From the crib where Tommy's asleep.
And train my vision to pierce the clouds
That hang over years to come;
flHt ntter darkness the future shrouds,
And the tongue Of the seer is dumb
SO lay them down in the bosom of grace,
The children whom God has given,
Trusting he'll bring them to see his face,
The face of our Lord in heaven.