The summer sun was sinking
With a mild light, calm and mellow:
It shone on my little boy's bonnie cheeks,
And his loose locks of yellow:

The robin was singing sweetly,
And his song was sad and tender;
And my little boy's eyes, while he heard the song,
Smiled with a sweet soft splendour.

My little boy lay on my bosom
While his soul the song was quaffing;
The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek,
And his heart and his eye were laughing.

I sate alone in my cottage,
The midnight needle plying;
I fear'd for my child, for the rush's light
In the socket now was dying:

There came a hand to my lonely latch,
Like the wind at midnight moaning;
I knelt to pray, but rose again,
For I heard my little boy groaning:

I cross'd my brow and I cross'd my breast,
But that night my child departed -
They left a weakling in his stead,
And I am broken-hearted:

Oh! it cannot be my own sweet boy,
For his eyes are dim and hollow;
My little boy is gone - is gone,
And his mother soon will follow!

The dirge for the dead will be sung for me,
And the mass be chanted meetly,
And I shall sleep with my little boy,
In the moonlight churchyard sweetly.