TO MY LITTLE SON ON HIS TWELFTH BIRTHDAY.
HOW like a dream it is, since I
First took thee from thy Maker's hands,
A tiny babe so beautiful,
More precious, too, than golden sands.
First took thee from thy Maker's hands,
A tiny babe so beautiful,
More precious, too, than golden sands.
'Twas on that holy winter's morn
We celebrate the Saviour's birth,
That you, with beauteous face and form,
Sent quiet gladness round our hearth.
We celebrate the Saviour's birth,
That you, with beauteous face and form,
Sent quiet gladness round our hearth.
I then shed tears of joy, and pain,
To think a gift so rich was given
For me to love, and then, again,
To mould it fit for heaven.
To think a gift so rich was given
For me to love, and then, again,
To mould it fit for heaven.
I've watched thy budding mind unfold,
As opes the petal of the flower,—
A gem that in the casket glowed,
Warmed into life by love's sweet power.
As opes the petal of the flower,—
A gem that in the casket glowed,
Warmed into life by love's sweet power.
