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The cottage was a thatched one,
The outside old and mean; Yet everything within that cot
Was wondrous neat and clean. The night was dark and stormy,
The wind was howling wild; A patient mother knelt beside
The deathbed of her child.
A little worn-out creature-
His once bright eyes grown dim; He was a collier's only child
They called him little Jim. And oh! to see the briny tears
Fast hurrying down her cheek,
She was afraid to speak,
Far better than her life;
In that poor collier's wife.
Just moisten poor Jim's lips again,
And, mother, don't you cry.”
The tea-cup to his lips;
Three little tiny sips. “Tell father, when he comes from work,
I said good-night to him;
Alas! poor little Jim!
The child she loved so dear,
Might ever hope to hear.
The collier's step was heard ; The mother and the father met,
Yet neither spoke a word !
He knew that all was over
He knew his child was dead; He took the candle in his hand,
And walked towards the bed,
With hands uplifted, see, she kneels
Beside the suff'rer's bed; And prays that He will spare her boy,
And take herself instead!
She gets her answer from the child;
Soft fell these words from him :“Mother, the angels do so smile,
And beckon little Jim !
His quivering lips gave token
Of grief he'd fain conceal;
The stricken couple kneel !
They humbly ask of Him,
I have no pain, dear mother, now,
But oh! I am so dry;