Classic Poem

I.

I have two Sons, Wife —
Two, and yet the same;
One his wild way runs, Wife,
Bringing us to shame.
The one is bearded, sunburnt, grim, and fights across the sea,
The other is a little son who sits upon your knee.

II.

One is fierce and cold, Wife,
As the wayward Deep:
Him no arms could hold, Wife,
Him no breast could keep.
He has tried our hearts for many a year, not broken them; for he
Is still the sinless little one that sits upon your knee.

III.

One may fall in fight, Wife —
Is he not our son?
Pray with all your might, Wife,
For the wayward one;
Pray for the dark, rough soldier, who fights across the sea,
Because you love the little son who smiles upon your knee.

IV.

One across the foam, Wife,
As I speak may fall;
But this one at home, Wife,
Cannot die at all.
They both are only one; and how thankful should we be,
We cannot lose the darling Son who sits upon your knee!