TO A LITTLE CHILD,
Who, soon after going to his first school, wrote home to his mother: ‘I am afraid I am spoiling your photograph by dropping my tears on it. I take it to bed with me every night.’
Couched within thy little nest,
Now the lessons all are done,
Clasp her Picture to thy breast,
Fondly clasp thy dearest one.
Freely let the tear-drops flow,
Tears of love, like showers of Spring;
In thy heart Love’s flowers shall grow,
And shall sweetest comfort bring.