On My First Son

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy;
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O could I lose all father now! for why
Will man lament the state he should envy,
To have so soon ‘scaped world’s and flesh’s rage,
And, if no other misery, yet age?
Rest in soft peace, and asked, say, “Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry.”
For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such
As what he loves may never like too much.

In small proportions we just beauties see
And in short measures life may perfect be.




~ Ben Jonson 1573 - 1637 ~
“On My First Son”

J.B. Murray, a professor, author of:
“And Say What He Is: The Life of a Special Child.”whose
own disabled son died, could not understand
the meaning of those last lines.
I think I do.
Because of the little boy’s death,
The father wanted, from then on, for all his wishes
And desires, to never mean as much as
That little son did to him
Because it hurt too much
To lose him.