And "awa, awa," from thy father's knee;
Thou'rt "awa" from our blessing, our care, our caressing,
But "awa" from our hearts thou'lt never be.
All things, dear child, that were wont to please thee
Are round thee here in beauty bright,—
There's music rare in the cloudless air,
And the earth is teeming with living delight.
Thou'rt "awa, awa," from the bursting spring time,
Tho' o'er thy head its green boughs wave;
The lambs are leaving their little footprints