Classic Poem

Vainly , vainly memory seeks,
Round our father's knee,
Laughing eyes and rosy cheeks
Where they used to be:
Of the circle once so wide,
Three are wanderers, three have died.

Golden-haired and dewy-eyed,
Prattling all the day,
Was the baby, first that died;
Oh, 'twas hard to lay
Dimpled hand and cheek of snow
In the grave so dark and low.

Smiling back on all who smiled,
Ne'er by sorrow thralled,
Half a woman, half a child,
Was the next one called:
Then a grave more deep and wide
Made they by the baby's side.

When or where the other died
Only Heaven can tell;
Treading manhood's path of pride
Was he when he fell;
Haply thistles, blue and red,
Bloom about his lonely bed.

I am for the living three
Only left to pray;
Two are on the stormy sea;
Farther still than they,
Wanders one, his young heart dim—
Oftenest, most I pray for him.

Whatsoe'er they do or dare,
Wheresoe'er they roam,
Have them, Father, in Thy care,
Guide them safely home;
Home, oh, Father, in the sky,
Where none wander and none die.