Our Babies.
Willie and Annie, our two pretty babes,
Our dear household angels, we love them so well;
Brown eyes and blue, so merry and glad,
Which is the dearest, ’tis hard for to tell.
Dear little Nan with the nut-brown curls
And bonnie brown eyes, so tender and true,
Willie with locks of the sunniest gold
And eyes like a bit of Heaven’s own blue.
When dear, little Willie climbs up on my knee,
And gazes so lovingly into my face,
I think the wide world can hold nothing more dear
Than our bonnie, wee lad, with his sweet baby ways.
While Nan with her tricks drives us all nearly wild,
And we try, all in vain, to make her “be good,”
But I know as I clasp the sweet rogue to my heart,
We would not have her otherwise e’en if we could.
O, innocent babies! so pure and so fair,
You must soon wander forth in the world’s busy strife,
And the dimpled, white hands will be wounded and torn,
For thorns ever lurk ’neath the roses of life.
God guard you, and keep you, my innocent ones;
May the sad tears of pain never dim your bright eyes.
The pathway before you seems cloudless and fair,
God grant that no sorrow may darken the skies.
