O dear one, how sad is that moan,
How languid and sickly that eye;
My bosom responds to each groan,
And echos each deep-breathing sigh.
Those fluttering pulsations I trace,
The anguish that sits on thy brow,
The paleness that covers thy face,
Thy voice that is languid and low.
O dear one, how deep is the grief,
That withers my desolate heart;
Kind Heav'n bring thee speedy relief,
Or thou from thy mother wilt part.
O MY PRECIOUS LITTLE GEM.
[[Listen]]
FOR A FATHERLESS CHILD.
O my precious little gem,
While I hold thee to my breast,
May some heav'n inspiring dream
Soothe thy spirit into rest.
But thy mother's heart is riv'n,
Bitter anguish she must feel;
Nothing but the balm of heav'n,
Can her wounded spirit heal.