Classic Poem

Lay the little bud i' the mould;
Lay it low, lay it low,
Lay the little bud i' the mould,
To a flower 'twill never grow,
Never, never tho' for years,
'Twere watered by its mothers tears.

Look at it one last farewell,
Look as clearly as ye may;
Here our little dear will dwell
Quiet when we're far away.
Never, never will it cry
To be with us or have us by.

Tears she leaves to those that live;
She so fair & fond of life!
Tears are all we have to give,
Shed them with no bitter strife.
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Lay the little bud i' the mould;
Lower it in the green embrace;
Here 'twill keep thro' heat & cold
That last smile upon its face;
Never changed in calm & storm,
Till the angels kiss it warm.

Lay it in its little bed;
Oh! but 'tis so fast asleep!
Drop it not as tho' 'twere dead;
Fear to make its blue eyes peep!
Never, never, nevermore,
Can they open as of yore.

When the moon shines thro' her cloud,
Here she'll see our dear one rest
Folded there in its white shroud
With its hands upon its breast.
Never to its parents twain
Will it stretch those hands again.

Summer with the dusky leaves,
Winter with the finest frost,
Autumn with the nodding sheaves,
All will see what we have lost!
Never, never, will the year
Bring us any news of her.

In the cool grey twilight hours,
When the ground is glad with Spring
And the air with breathing flowers,
Here the happy thrush will sing;
Never will he feel a woe
For the dead child we weep for so.