Classic Poem

My little boy at Christmas-tide
Made me a toy cross;
Two sticks he did, in boyish pride,
With brazen nail emboss.

Ah me! how soon, on either side
His dying bed's true cross,
She and I were crucified,
Bemoaning our life-loss!

But He, whose arms in death spread wide
Upon the holy tree,
Were clasped about him when he died —
Clasped for eternity!