THE CHILD IN HEAVEN
The nursery windows were cold and black,
The nursery hearth it was gray and sad;
She moaned for the child that would never come back,
Her heart was broken for her little lad.
She had folded his garments and put them away,
She had hidden his cradle quite out of sight:
But the child was glad in the light of day,
While she was caught in the bitter night.
The nursery hearth it was gray and sad;
She moaned for the child that would never come back,
Her heart was broken for her little lad.
She had folded his garments and put them away,
She had hidden his cradle quite out of sight:
But the child was glad in the light of day,
While she was caught in the bitter night.
He thinks of his mother through all that cheer;
He would never forget in a hundred year.
He would never forget in a hundred year.
The silence ached for the baby's cry.
O silence, silence and loneliness!
And the thought of the empty nursery
Cried at her heart with a keen distress—
Knocked at her heart like a ghost of the night,
Followed her ever or near or far:
But her little boy he is clad in white,
In the land that is over the morning star.
O silence, silence and loneliness!
And the thought of the empty nursery
Cried at her heart with a keen distress—
Knocked at her heart like a ghost of the night,
Followed her ever or near or far:
But her little boy he is clad in white,
In the land that is over the morning star.
He thinks of his mother through all that cheer;
He would never forget in a hundred year.
He would never forget in a hundred year.
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