Little Jim, the Collier Boy

The cottage was a thatched one,
The outside old and mean,
Yet everything within that cot,
Was wond’rous neat and clean.

The night was dark and stormy,
The wind was howling wild,
A patient mother watched beside,
The death bed of her child.

A little worn out creature,
His once bright eyes grown dim,
It was a Collier’s wife and child,
They call’d him Little Jim.

And oh to see the briny tears,
Fast hurrying down her cheek,
As she offered up a prayer in thought,
She was afraid to speak.

Lest she might awaken one she lov’d,
Far better than her life,
For she had all a mother’s heart,
Had that poor Collier’s wife.

With hands uplifted she kneels,
Beside the sufferer’s bed
And prays that He will spare her boy,
And take herself instead.

She gets her answer from the child,
Soft fell these words from him,
Mother, the angels do so smile,
And beckon Little Jim.

I have no pain, dear mother now,
Just, oh! I am so dry,
But moisten poor Jim’s lips again,
And mother, don’t you cry.

With gentle trembling hands she held,
The tea cup to his lips,
He smiled to thank her as he took,
Three little tiny sips.

Tell father when he comes home from work,
I said goodnight to him;
And mother, now, I’ll go to sleep,
Alas, Poor Little Jim.

She saw that he was dying,
The child she loved so dear,
Had utter’d the last words that she,
Might ever hope to hear.

The cottage door is opened,
The Collier’s step is heard,
The father and the mother meet,
Yet neither speak a word.

He knew that all was over,
He knew his child was dead,
He took the candle in his hand,
And walk’d towards the bed.

His quivering lips gave token,
Of the grief he’d fain conceal,
And see, his wife has joined him –
The stricken couple kneel.

With hearts bowed down in sadness,
They humbly ask of Him,
In heaven once more to meet again,
Their own Poor Little Jim.