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