CHILD of my heart, my loved one,
I view thy beauties shine,
My work on earth is nearly done,
Yet still I feel thou'rt mine.
My treasur'd child, my beautiful,
With front of guileless mein
And eyes like stars—(my heart is full,
From wrongs I've felt and seen.)
But thou, sweet child, so young in years,—
Dost wonder when I sigh—
(Ah, could I weep—my deep-drawn tears
Are still and sunk mine eye,)
On thee I gaz'd, as thou lay calm
In sleep's refreshing rest,
Yet when I sleep I close that balm
That fills thy placid breast.
This very morn I stood beside
The couch whereon you lay
So still, so calm—Oh! I must hide
The "grief that wears away!"
And wilt thou weep thy father's death
When down'd in sable dress--
When I'm laid low!—no flatt'ring breath—
No blessing, nor caress!
Sweet Ada, thy infantive kiss
Is all I crave from thee,—
A brighter world, more fair than this
I hasten to—I'm free!
And soon I'll die:—They cannot wane
Thy feelings, child, astray
From him whose greatest fault hath been
The love of thee alway.
Farewell! Oh, on that parting word
I breathe a father's pray'r—
A prayer that is in Heav'n heard—
Borne to me, Ada, there!