Classic Poem

Where Christ His glorious mansions builds,
Where angel hands each chaplet weaves,
Where fruit the tree of knowledge yields,
And death lurks not among the leaves.

There, victor over death and strife,
Although our loved one waves his palm,
The God who gave him endless life
We praise, with sorrow in our psalm.

Faith gladly sees him 'mong the blest,
But nature fain would to the throne,
To pluck him from Immanuel's breast,
And press him closely to our own.

Still though our cry goes up to God,
Our darling, would we died for thee,
He knows our wish to kiss the rod,
And loving, humble children be.

'Tis not the tear that's lightly shed
That God will in His bottle keep,
But that which from the soul is bled,
Though it might ne'er the eyelids steep.