To William Craig Poem by Janet Hamilton

On the Death of an only Son, who lost his life by a Railway Accident.

'Twas drear November; by the turbid tide
That foaming chafes the wintry banks of Clyde,
I saw a careworn man with mournful air;
And thus he spoke his woe while straying there-
'My son, my son, I thought not thus to part;
Stay of my life and treasure of my heart.
A goodly tree he grew up by my side;
And I beheld, with all a parent's pride,
The verdant boughs, beneath whose grateful shade
I hoped to find repose when strength would fade.
And she, the tender mother too, would share
His filial love and ever duteous care.
But ah! the anguish we were doomed to feel
When he from 'neath the steam car's gory wheel
Was drawn with crushed and mangled limbs to lie,
Far from his home, to suffer and to die.
He died, but not alone-there daily moved
Around his couch the parents so beloved;
Calm and resigned he yielded up his breath,
And passed in faith and hope the gates of death.
And ye, oh mourning pair, by grief oppressed;
Bereaved of him your youngest, dearest, best,
Look up to God! He comforts all who mourn;
Your son has passed the bourne whence none return.
But saved by grace, and called by God to come,
To meet, and dwell with him in 'Heaven our home.'