William Barnes. 1801-1886
658. Mater Dolorosa
1 min to read 108 words
I'D a dream to-night As I fell asleep, O! the touching sight Makes me still to weep: Of my little lad, Gone to leave me sad, Ay, the child I had, But was not to keep.
As in heaven high, I my child did seek, There in train came by Children fair and meek, Each in lily white, With a lamp alight; Each was clear to sight, But they did not speak.
Then, a little sad, Came my child in turn, But the lamp he had, O it did not burn! He, to clear my doubt, Said, half turn'd about, 'Your tears put it out; Mother, never mourn.'
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William Barnes. 1801-1886
659. The Wife a-lost
1 min to read 193 words
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