Читать книгу Bertha's Christmas Vision: 20 Holiday Stories - Alger Horatio Jr. - Страница 6

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A violet grew by the river-side,

And gladdened all hearts with its bloom;

While over the fields, on the scented air,

It breathed a rich perfume.

But the clouds grew dark in the angry sky,

And its portals were opened wide;

And the heavy rain beat down the flower

That grew by the river-side.

Not far away, in a pleasant home,

There lived a little boy,

Whose cheerful face and childish grace

Filled every heart with joy.

He wandered one day to the river’s verge,

With no one near to save;

And the heart that we loved with a boundless love

Was stilled in the restless wave.

The sky grew dark to our tearful eyes,

And we bade farewell to joy;

For our hearts were bound by a sorrowful tie

To the grave of the little boy.

The birds still sing in the leafy tree

That shadows the open door:

We heed them not; for we think of the voice

That we shall hear no more.

We think of him at eventide,

And gaze on his vacant chair

With a longing heart, that will scarce believe

That Charlie is not there.

We seem to hear his ringing laugh,

And his bounding step at the door;

But, alas! there comes the sorrowful thought—

We shall never hear them more!

We shall walk sometimes to his little grave,

In the pleasant summer hours;

We will speak his name in a softened voice,

And cover his grave with flowers;

We will think of him in his heavenly home—

His heavenly home so fair;

And we will trust with a hopeful trust

That we shall meet him there.