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We are wicked—we are weary
For us pray and for us plead ; God, who ever hears the sinless,
May through you the sinful heed :
be forgiven; Plead that
be sent to greet us At the gates of Heaven !
VAINLY for us the sunbeams shine,
Dimm'd is our joyous hearth; O Casa, dearer dust than thine
Ne'er mixed with mother earth! Thou wert the corner-stone of love,
The keystone of our fate ; Thou art not! Heaven scowls dark above,
And earth is desolate !
Ocean may rave with billows curld,
And moons may wax and wane, And fresh flowers blossom ; but this world
Shall claim not thee again. Closed are the eyes
which bade rejoice Our hearts till love ran o'er ; Thy smile is vanish’d, and thy voice
Silent for evermore !
Yes; thou art gone-our hearth's delight,
Our boy so fond and dear ;
No more thy songs to cheer;
To fill our home with joy :
As bright as swift, fair boy.
Now winter, with its snow departs,
The green leaves clothe the tree; But summer smiles not on the hearts
That bleed and break for thee :
Her boughs in beauty wave;
Upon thy silent grave.
Dear to our souls is every spot
Where thy small feet have trod; There odours, breathed from Eden, float,
And sainted is the sod;
The blackbird singing free,
They speak to us of thee !
Only in dreams thou comest now
From Heaven's immortal shore, A glory round that infant brow,
Which Death's pale signet bore : 'Twas thy fond looks, 'twas thy fond lips,
That lent our joys their tone; And life is shaded with eclipse,
Since thou from earth art gone.
Thine were the fond, endearing ways,
That tenderest feeling prove ;
To claim and keep our love;
And, Casa, can it be
Except vain tears for thee?
Idly we watch thy form to trace
In children on the street; Vainly, in each familiar place,
We list thy pattering feet;
Despair's black pinions wave;
We look upon thy grave.
O heavenly child of mortal birth !
Our thoughts of thee arise,
But inmate of the skies :
A soothing balm imparts;
And Sabbath fills our hearts.
Thou leanest where the fadeless wands
Of amaranth bend o'er; Thy white wings brush the golden sands
Of Heaven's refulgent shore.
Of angels choir abroad;
Bask round the throne of God.
There chance and change are not; the soul
Quaffs bliss as from a sea,
From sin and sorrow free :
New raptures to impart;
Who now a seraph art?
A little while-a little while
Ah! long it cannot be !
Where angels smile on thee.
How sinful to deplore !
Not lost, but gone before.