Thomas S. Glenn
1857-1864
DIED
On Friday, the 18th instant, of Congestion, THOMAS S., only son of THOMAS H. and MARY C. GLENN, aged 6 years and 5 months.
There's a fresh little mound 'neath the willow
Where at evening I wander and weep,
There's a dear vacant spot on my pillow
Where a sweet little face used to sleep;
There were pretty blue eyes, but they slumber
In silence beneath the dark mound'
And the little pet lamb of our number
Has gone to the heavenly fold.
Do I deam, when I sleep I behold him
With a beauty so fresh and divine,
And so close in my arms I enfold him,
I can feel his soft cheek upon mine!
Oh! so lovely those gentle eyes glisten
That my vision is lost in my terars,
And bewildered, enraptured, I listen
To a voice from the spirits bright spheres.
There's a silence in parlor and chamber,
There's a sadness in every room,
We know that the Father hath claimed him
Yet all things seem burdened with gloom,
But I'll not be a comfortless mourner,
No longer brood over my pain,
For I know where the angels have borne him
And soon I shall see him again.