Classic Poem

Oh! mother, here 's the very top,
That brother used to spin;
The vase with seeds I 've seen him drop
To call our robin in;
The line that held his pretty kite,
His bow, his cup and ball,
The slate on which he learned to write,
His feather, cap, and all!

" My dear, I'd put the things away
Just where they were before:
Go, Anna, take him out to play,
And shut the closet door.
Sweet innocent! he little thinks
The slightest thought expressed
Of him that 's lost, how deep it sinks
Within a mother's breast! "

Oh! mother, here 's the very top,
That brother used to spin;
The vase with seeds I 've seen him drop
To call our robin in;
The line that held his pretty kite,
His bow, his cup and ball,
The slate on which he learned to write,
His feather, cap, and all!

" My dear, I'd put the things away
Just where they were before:
Go, Anna, take him out to play,
And shut the closet door.
Sweet innocent! he little thinks
The slightest thought expressed
Of him that 's lost, how deep it sinks
Within a mother's breast! "