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.

[54]

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.