A Blakey sort of pair of poems.

A couple of poems by a dude who knew what he was doing back in the eighteenth century:

The Little Boy Lost

‘Father, father, where are you going?

O do not walk so fast.

Speak father, speak to your little boy,

Or else I shall be lost.’

The night was dark, no father was there;

The child was wet with dew;

The mire was deep, & the child did weep,

And away the vapour flew.

The Little Boy Found

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,

Led by the wand’ring light.

Began to cry, but God ever nigh,

Appear’d like his father in white.

He kissed the child & by the hand led

And his mother brought

Who in sorrow pale, thro’ the lonely dale,

Her little boy weeping sought.

Happy continuing Father’s Day.

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