A First-Born

The wanderer reaches home with joy
From absence of a year and more;
His eye seeks a beloved boy —
His wife lies weeping on the floor.
They whisper he is gone. The glooms
Of evening fall; beyond the gate
A lonely grave in outline looms
To greet the sire who came too late.
Forth to the little mound he flings,
Where wild-flowers bloom on every side.
His bones are in the Yellow Springs,
His flesh like dust is scattered wide.
"O child who never knew thy sire,
For ever now to be unknown,
Ere long thy wandering ghost shall tire
Of flitting friendless and alone.
"O son, man's greatest earthly boon.
With thee I bury hopes and fears."
He bowed his head in grief and soon
His breast was wet with rolling tears.
Life's dread uncertainty he knows,
But oh for this untimely close!