I will go to the grave where my child has gone

I will go to the grave where my child has gone,
And strew its turf with flowers;
He was my loved and only one,
The charm of my lonely hours:
O, he was life in its freshest bloom,
He cheered me many a day;
His smile and his beauty lit my gloom,
And chased its night away.

Day after day, like an opening flower,
His mother's pride he grew;
He seemed like an infant germ of power,
So bright he met my view:
I saw, in his gay, exulting face,
The future greatness glow;
And I thought his light infantine grace
To manhood's might would grow.

I read, in every word and smile,
The father's look and tone;
And I hung on those dear eyes, the while,
As when first our hearts were one:
So bright a vision could not last,
That dear illusion fled;
Like a rainbow-cloud away it passed
To the cold and voiceless dead.

But there is a home where dear ones meet,
And blend their innocent love;
Where hours of happiness never fleet,
In the peaceful world above;
Where the links, that bind our souls by death,
Shall never be broken more,
But a better life, with its quickening breath,
Shall every charm restore:
Then cease, ye bitter tears, to fall;
My heart its grief shall bear,
Till I hear, from Heaven, the tender call
Of love invite me there.
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