While faintly burned the vital spark,
Within life's frail and shattered bark,
Just mooring in the port of bliss,
She paused to steal one last, fond kiss.
In death's embrace those lips were cold,
Ere half their thrilling tale was told;
The mother and her babes must part,
Before the tender infant heart,
By her soft winning tones, had learned
What love within her bosom burned
Before her counsels, blessed and wise,
Could train her offspring to the skies.
Sweet babes! so helpless, frail and fair,
Why here, without her watchful care?
Your sainted brother never wept
Beside the grave, where loved ones slept,
While clouds were gathering round his head,
He to the Savior's bosom fled.
Then why not plume your tiny wings,
And soar to where your mother sings?
Why tarry on this barren shore;
Till waves of trouble round you roar?

Ah! now I know; you linger here,
Your father's lonely hours to cheer.
Death would not pluck the last fair flower,
That bloomed in his connubial bower;
He fondly loves his orphan boys,
They half restore his withered joys.
Sweet rosebuds, springing from the tomb,