Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LOST BABIES, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LOST BABIES, by                    
First Line: "come, my wife, put down the bible"
Last Line: Then they'll each go on his way
Subject(s): Memory


COME, my wife, put down the Bible,
Lay your glasses on the book;
Both of us are bent and aged --
Backward, mother, let us look.
This is still the same old homestead
Where I brought you long ago,
When the hair was bright with sunshine
That is now like winter's snow.
Let us talk about the babies,
As we sit here all alone;
Such a merry troop of youngsters, --
How we lost them one by one.

Jack, the first of all our party,
Came to us one winter's night.
Jack, you said, should be a parson,
Long before he saw the light.
Do you see the great cathedral,
Filled the transept and the nave,
Hear the organ gladly pealing,
Watch the silken hangings wave?
See the priest in robes of office,
With the altar at his back, --
Would you think that gifted preacher
Could be our own little Jack?

Then, a girl with curly tresses
Used to climb upon my knee
Like a little fairy princess,
Ruling at the age of three.
With the years there came a wedding --
How your fond heart swelled with pride
When the lord of all the country
Chose your baby for his bride!
Watch that stately carriage coming,
And the form reclining there, --
Would you think that brilliant lady
Could be our own little Clare?

Then, the last, a blue-eyed youngster, --
I can hear him prattling now, --
Such a strong and sturdy fellow,
With his broad and honest brow.
How he used to love his mother!
Ah! I see your trembling lip!
He is far off on the water,
Captain of a royal ship.
See the bronze upon his forehead,
Hear the voice of stern command, --
That's the boy who clung so fondly
To his mother's gentle hand.

Ah! my wife, we've lost the babies,
Ours so long and ours alone.
What are we to those great people,
Stately men and women grown?
Seldom do we even see them;
Yes, a bitter tear-drop starts
As we sit here in the firelight,
Lonely hearth and lonely hearts.
All their lives are full without us;
They'll stop long enough one day
Just to lay us in the churchyard,
Then they'll each go on his way.





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