206 BOYS OF THE BIBLE.

«The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush;
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung—
But thou no more with thy sweet voice shalt come
To meet me, Absalom!

And, oh! when IJ am stricken, and my heart
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death’s gathering gloom.
To see thee, Absalom!

And now, farewell! ’Tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee;
And thy dark sin—oh! I could drink the cup
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home.
My lost boy, Absalom!”

He covered up his face, and bowed himself

A moment on his child: then giving him

A look of melting tenderness, he clasped

His hands convulsively, as if in prayer:

And as if strength were given him of God,

He rose up calmly and composed the pall
Fairly and decently, and left him there

As though his rest had been a breathing sleep.