That they with her must shortly part.

The long feared fatal hour draws near,--
Deep silence hushed the mourning throng,
Yet still her feeble voice they hear,--
Dear mother, falters on her tongue.

That name her infant tongue first learned,
It trembled on her latest breath;--
Yet a deaf ear the monster turned,
And hushed the tender sound in death.

A placid smile is on her brow;--
Does filial love still linger there?
Or does her convoy angel now
Breathe heavenly music in her ear?

Long ere a springing blade appeared
Upon that daughter's new made grave,--
Consumption cries, Oh! be prepared,
Another blooming form I crave.

A youthful son was now his prey,--
Whose rising merits win each heart,--
A noble mind beams from his eye,--
Fair virtue dwells in his young heart.

Yet pale disease now lurks around,
His active limbs their vigor lose;
But lo! he hears the joyful sound;--