'O Deares mother! tell me, pray,
Why are the dew-drops gone so soon?
Could they not stay till close of day,
To sparkle on the flowery spray,
Or on the fields till noon?'

The mother gazed upon her boy,
Earnest with thought beyond his years,
And felt a sharp and sad annoy,
That meddled with her deepest joy,
But she restrained her tears.

'My child, 'tis said such beauteous things,
Too often loved with vain excess,
Are swept away by angel wings,
Before contamination clings
To their frail loveliness.

'Behold yon rainbow, brightening yet,
To which all mingled hues are given!
There are thy dew-drops, grandly set
In a resplendent coronet
Upon the brow of heaven.

'No stain of earth can reach them there,
Woven with sunbeams there they shine,
A transient vision of the air,
But yet a symbol, pure and fair,
Of love and peace divine.'

The boy gazed upward into space,
With eager and inquiring eyes,
While o'er his fair and thoughtful face
Came a faint glory, and a grace
Transmitted from the skies.

Ere the last odorous sigh of May,
That child lay down beneath the sod;
Like dew, his young soul passed away,
To mingle with the brighter day
That veils the throne of God.

Mother, thy fond, foreboding heart
Truly foretold thy loss and pain;
But thou didst choose the patient part
Of resignation to the smart,
And owned thy loss his gain.