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Though many a weary mile doth stretch,
Between thy home and me:
And many a forest dark and high
Is lifted up between,
Yet still thy form seems near my side,
Amid each stranger scene:
And fondly seems thy full fair eye
Upon my brow to gaze;
And in my dearest dreams I join
Thy spirit-stirring plays.
Niagara's glory strikes my view,
Its awful voice I hear,
But still thy sweetly murmur'd tone
Is closer in mine ear.
And thus through every change of time
Thy mother's love must be,
My little son, my only one,
God give his grace to thee.
