To A Youth On The Death Of His Mother Poem by Edward Henry Bickersteth

While o'er thine infancy thy mother smiled,
A thousand wishes all her thoughts beguiled:
To see thine opening youth to manhood grow,
To watch the bud expand and fully blow,
Was all her care,—but God had marked her doom,
And Death's cold hand conveyed her to the tomb!
Yet still, dear boy, one anxious parent lives;
Heaven, all indulgent, yet a treasure gives:
Be his thy will, learn early to obey,
And may he ever bless thy natal day!