On The Death of A Beloved Son and Only Child
My olive plant, so green and fair;
My budding hope, my dearest care;
My only one! He only knew
Who gave-and, ah! how soon withdrew
The precious gift-how dear I loved
My plant on earth; and though removed
To higher climes and brighter skies,
With mournful tread and weeping eyes
I wander round his early tomb-
But light from heaven dispels the gloom!
An angel voice falls on my ear,
'Whom seek'st thou, weeping mother, here?
He is not here: thy son hath risen-
'Tis but his shattered, mortal prison
Lies there. Oh! would'st thou ever dwell
With him thou loved on earth so well?
Then Jesus seek, the Saviour know;
He'll pardon, peace, and heaven bestow,
Where thy loved plant shall bloom for ever,
And thou wilt join him ne'er to sever.'