122. FATHERHOOD
Reading edition
A kiss, a word of thanks, away They're gone, and you forsaken learn The blessedness of giving; they (So Nature bids) forget, nor turn To where you sit, and watch, and yearn.
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And you (so Nature bids) would go Through fire and water for their sake; Rise early, late take rest, to sow Their wealth, and lie all night awake If but their little finger ache.
The storied prince with wondrous hair Which stole men's hearts and wrought his bale, Rebelling, since he had no heir, Built him a pillar in the vale, —Absalom's—lest his name should fail.
It fails not, though the pillar lies In dust, because the outraged one, His father, with strong agonies Cried it until the day was done— "O Absalom, my son, my son!"
So Nature bade; or might it be God, who in Jewry once (they say) Cried with a great cry, "Come to me, Children," who still held on their way, Though He spread out His hands all day?
Henry Charles Beeching.