Scraps. [An anthology, ed.] by H. Jenkins

THE THREE SONS.
I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old,
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould.
They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears,
That my child is grave and wise of heart beyond his childish

years.
I cannot say how this may be, I know his face is fair,
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air :
I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me,
But loveth yet his mother more with grateful fervency:
But that which others most admire, is the thought which fills

his mind,
The food for grave inquiring speech he everywhere doth find.
Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk ;
He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk,
Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes not on bat or ball,
But looks on manhood's ways and works, and aptly mimics all.
His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes perplex'd
With thoughts about this world of ours, and thoughts about

the next.
He kneels at his dear mother's knee, she teacheth him to pray,
And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are the words which

he will say.

O! should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like

me, A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be: And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful

brow, I dare not think what I should feel were I to lose him now.

I have a son, a second son : a simple child of three,
I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be,
How silver-sweet those tones of his when be prattles on my

knee ;

I do not think his light blue eye is like his brother's keen,
Nor his brow so full of childish thought as his hath ever been ;
But his little heart's a fountain pure of kind and tender feeling;
And his every look 's a gleam of light rich depths of love re-

vealing. When he walks with me, the country folk, who pass us in the

street, Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks so mild and

sweet.
A playfellow he is to all, and yet with cheerful tone,
Will sing his little song of love, when left to sport alone.
His presence

is like sunshine sent to gladden home and hearth, To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all our mirth. Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his heart may

prove As sweet a home for heavenly grace as now for earthly love: And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must dim, God comfort us for all the love which we shall lose in him.

I have a son,
,-a third sweet

son, his

age

I cannot tell, For they reckon not by months and years, where he is gone to

dwell. To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given, And then he bade farewell to earth, and went to live in heaven. I cannot tell what form his is, what looks he weareth now, Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow, The thoughts that fill bis sinless soul, the bliss which he doth

feel, Are number'd with the secret things which God will not

reveal. But I know (for God hath told me this) that he is now at rest, Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour's loving

breast.

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