6
Little Son.
The days are passing, one by one,
Through a shadowy door,
Blithely we see them enter,
They return no more.
Through a shadowy door,
Blithely we see them enter,
They return no more.
Where do they go, and why,
Out of our view?
Little son, give me your hand,
We're going too.
Out of our view?
Little son, give me your hand,
We're going too.
Some day—perhaps some night,
No one can tell—
We shall pass through that door,
All will be well.
No one can tell—
We shall pass through that door,
All will be well.
Pass from all yesterdays,
That will be good,
Then we shall understand,
And be understood.
That will be good,
Then we shall understand,
And be understood.
Death keeps that shadowy door,
And one by one
We shall pass through it,
Dear little son.
And one by one
We shall pass through it,
Dear little son.
