Classic Poem

Our baby boy one day
Folded his violet eyes,
And from his waxen clay
His white soul flew away
To far-off Paradise.

His little hands so fair
We crossed upon his breast,
And standing by him there
We gave him to the care
Of One who doeth best.

And when to final sleep
We laid him soft and low,
We could not help but heap
Upon him lilies deep
And roses pure as snow.

And then, with courage great,
His mother faced the years;
But oft, when it was late,
Among his toys she sate
And fondled them with tears.

But now another child,
With wondrous violet eyes,
Rests on her bosom mild,
And smiles as he had smiled,
To-day in Paradise.

And something seems to say
To her, so sad before:
" The soul that flew away
Is back again to-day;
Sweet mother, weep no more! "