  I am all alone in my chamber now, And the midnight hour is near; And the faggot’s crack and the clock’s dull tick Are the only sounds I hear. And o’er my soul, in its solitude, Sweet feelings of sadness glide, For my heart and my eyes are full when I think Of the little boy that died. Went home to the dear ones all— And softly I opened the garden gate, And softly the door of the hall. My mother came out to meet her son— She kissed me, and then she sighed, And her head fell on my neck, and she wept For the little boy that died. I shall miss him when the flowers come, In the garden where he played; I shall miss him more by the fireside, When the flowers have all decayed. I shall see his toys and his empty chair, And the horse he used to ride; And they will speak with a silent speech, Of the little boy that died. We shall go home to our Father’s house— To our Father’s house in the skies, Where the hopes of our souls shall have no blight, Or love no broken ties. We shall roam on the banks of the river of peace, And bathe in its blissful tide; And one of our joys of heaven shall be The little boy that died. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
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