Julia A. Moore

The Sweet Singer of Michigan


LITTLE HENRY


      AIR -- "Minnie Lee"

Oh! come listen to my story
      Of a little infant child --
His spirit is in glory --
      It has left us for a while.
Death has robbed us of our Henry,
      He is with our Savior now,
Where there is no pain or sorrow
      Comes to cloud his little brow.

CHORUS:

      God has took their little treasure,
            And his name I'll tell you now,
      He has gone from earth forever,
            Their little Charles Henry House.

His cheeks were red as roses,
      And his eyes were black as coals,
His little lips were red as rubies,
      And his little hair it curled.
Oh, they called him little Charley,
      He was full of joyful mirth --
Now his little form is lying
      'Neath the cold and silent earth.

It was the eleventh of December,
      On a cold and windy day,
Just at the close of evening,
      When the sunlight fades away;
Little Henry he was dying,
      In his little crib he lay,
With soft winds round him sighing
      From the morn till close of day.

Parents, brothers, sisters weeping,
      For their cup of sorrow's full,
And his little playthings keeping,
      That he thought so beautiful --
Tears from parents' eyes were starting
      For their little loving one.
Oh! how painful was the parting
      From their little infant son.

Oh! how often have they kissed him,
      And caressed his little brow --
To his little voice have listened,
      But his place is vacant now.
They called him little Charley,
      And his loving name they called,
But they could not keep their darling
      From the loving Savior's call.

But they must now cease their mourning,
      His little soul is at rest,
Where there can no storms of trouble
      Roll across his peaceful breast.
Now his little form is sleeping
      In the cold and silent tomb,
And his friends are left a weeping,
      In his dear and loving home.

It was the eleventh of December,
      Eighteen seventy was the year,
Kind friends will all remember --
      Silently let fall a tear.
But we must not trouble borrow,
      For the God of heaven is just;
No one knows a parent's sorrow,
      Till a child some friend have lost.



Reprinted from The Sweet Singer of Michigan: Poems by Mrs. Julia A. Moore, ed. Walter Blair (Chicago: Pascal Covici, 1928).

Return to Julia A. Moore Home Page