Little Joe the child was christened, and, like babies, grew apace;
He’d his mother’s eyes of azure and his father’s honest face.
Swift the happy years went over, years of blue and cloudless sky;
Love was lord of that small cottage, and the tempests passed them by.
Passed them by for years, then swiftly burst in fury o’er their home.
Down the lane by Annie’s cottage chanced a gentleman to roam;
Thrice he came and saw her sitting by the window with her child,
And he nodded to the baby, and the baby laughed and smiled.
So at last it grew to know him—little Joe was nearly four;
He would call the “pretty gemplun” as he passed the open door;