Ida, thou art of babes the best;
This much at least must be confessed,
Unless thy mother's words are wrong—
Words shadowing forth Affection strong.
Thou art indeed, sweet tempered pet,
As good a child as I have met.
And oh, my heart for thee' has bled,
When thou wert forced to be spoon-fed,
Because of Mamma's trying weakness.
Yet this thou didst still bear with meekness,
And ever from the first thy cries
Had for companions tearful eyes,
And such a mournful, piteous mien
As is not in bad temper seen.
When I saw this thou may'st be sure,
I felt quite ready to endure
Thy tediousness by night or day,
While mother on a sick-bed lay.
Now, as reward for all my toil,
Thou cheerest me by many a smile.
And while I gaze on thy sweet face
Bedecked with every infant grace,
My soul's best feelings are called Forth—
I see in thee increasing worth.
Say, sweetly smiling, pretty creature,
So perfect in each limb and feature,
What means that dreamy sort of look
Thou wear'st at times? Art thou then struck
With wonder at our household ways?
At brother's, sister's childish plays?
I would give something just to know
How thoughts within the mind can grow.
I fancy sometimes thou art thinking
On what's around thee or else drinking
Thou fill of heavenly visions sweet,
Such as would prove to me a treat:
Art silent still? Ah, then, young Miss,
Thou must eve'n give a parting kiss!
Farewell, my dear, my lovely child,
Fair Ida, with the look so mild!
TO MY WIFE, ON THE THIRTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR WEDDING DAY
SEPT. 26, 1860.
A thousand joys, my darling wife,
Be thine on this our marriage day!
And now I'll sing; for such a life
As we have led deserves a lay
Fresh-gushing from a heart like mine—
By thee well known to be sincere.
O, where are charms compared with thine?
Which, after years of toil appear
More fresh and fair,
Though much of care
Has fallen daily to thy share.
On me old Time has marked his flight—
My outward frame doth tell me this;
But still, sweet dove, my heart's as light
As when at first I found the bliss
Of Ellen's love in silken bands.
And what the future has in store
I know not, but my soul expands
Assured thou lov'st me more and more.
This rapturous thought
With blessings fraught
By gold could never have been bought.
But love—such love as we now feel
Ten thousand ills can face and foil,
And passing years afresh reveal—
We better are for cure and toil!
I would not then my lot exchange
For one where pampered luxury
The hearts of man and wife estrange,
And all is insincerity.
A lot like this,
Devoid of bliss,
Dear wife, may we forever miss!
What though when let but forty-three
I sober Grandpa have become?
With thee, my Ellen, yes, with thee
I can enjoy our humble home;
And the dear children to us given,
With those left by my first loved spouse,
Can by God's blessing make a heaven
For me in yet a poorer house!
The world dreams not
That in our cot
We pure, substantial joys have got.
As thus I sing in gladsome strain
Of my unmatched felicity,
There comes an almost endless train
From the deep founts of Memory,
Of pleasing pictures which retain
Poetic colors lich and rare.
Yet fearing they might make me vain,
I breathe to God this fervent prayer:
Lord, shield me well,
From potent spell
Of syren Pleasures, and Pride quell!
Oh, let us humbly now renew
Our vows to God, my sweetest love!
He then will shed His grace like dew
Upon us all, and bid the Dove
Of steadfast Peace assure our souls.
Thus may we battle on in life,
And as each season forward rolls
Feel stronger for the daily strife
Until at last
Our lot is cast
With those who into heaven have passed.