The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean,But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean;The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild,As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child:A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim:It was a collier’s wife and child, they called him little Jim.And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek,As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak,Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life;For she had all a mother’s heart, had that poor collier’s wife.With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer’s bed,And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead.She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him:“Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim,I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh! I am so dry,Just moisten poor Jim’s lips again, and, mother, don’t you cry.”With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip;He smiled to thank her as he took each little, tiny sip;“Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him,And, mother, now I’ll go to sleep.” Alas! poor little Jim!She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved so dearHad uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear:The cottage door is opened, the collier’s step is heard,The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word.He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead,He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed;His quivering lips gave token of the grief he’d fain conceal,And see, his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel:With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him,In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim.
The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean,But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean;The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild,As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child:A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim:It was a collier’s wife and child, they called him little Jim.And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek,As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak,Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life;For she had all a mother’s heart, had that poor collier’s wife.With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer’s bed,And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead.She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him:“Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim,I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh! I am so dry,Just moisten poor Jim’s lips again, and, mother, don’t you cry.”With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip;He smiled to thank her as he took each little, tiny sip;“Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him,And, mother, now I’ll go to sleep.” Alas! poor little Jim!She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved so dearHad uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear:The cottage door is opened, the collier’s step is heard,The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word.He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead,He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed;His quivering lips gave token of the grief he’d fain conceal,And see, his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel:With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him,In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim.
The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean,But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean;The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild,As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child:A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim:It was a collier’s wife and child, they called him little Jim.
The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean,
But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean;
The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild,
As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child:
A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim:
It was a collier’s wife and child, they called him little Jim.
And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek,As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak,Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life;For she had all a mother’s heart, had that poor collier’s wife.With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer’s bed,And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead.
And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek,
As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak,
Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life;
For she had all a mother’s heart, had that poor collier’s wife.
With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer’s bed,
And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead.
She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him:“Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim,I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh! I am so dry,Just moisten poor Jim’s lips again, and, mother, don’t you cry.”With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip;He smiled to thank her as he took each little, tiny sip;
She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him:
“Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim,
I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh! I am so dry,
Just moisten poor Jim’s lips again, and, mother, don’t you cry.”
With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip;
He smiled to thank her as he took each little, tiny sip;
“Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him,And, mother, now I’ll go to sleep.” Alas! poor little Jim!She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved so dearHad uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear:The cottage door is opened, the collier’s step is heard,The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word.
“Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him,
And, mother, now I’ll go to sleep.” Alas! poor little Jim!
She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved so dear
Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear:
The cottage door is opened, the collier’s step is heard,
The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word.
He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead,He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed;His quivering lips gave token of the grief he’d fain conceal,And see, his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel:With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him,In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim.
He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead,
He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed;
His quivering lips gave token of the grief he’d fain conceal,
And see, his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel:
With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him,
In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim.