Of my dear Son, Gervase Beaumont.
By Sir John Beaumont.
Can I, who have for others oft compiled
The songs of Death, forget my sweetest child ?
Which like a flower crusht, with a blast is dead,
And ere full time hangs down his smiling head.
Expecting with clear hope to live anew
Among the angels fed with heavenly dew.
We have this sign of joy, that many days,
While on the earth his struggling spirit stays,
The name of Jesus in his mouth contains
His only food, his sleep, his ease from pains.10
O may that sound be rooted in my mind
Of which in him such strong effect I find.
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