Not there—not there my heart is clinging;
But there, amid those deathless flowers,
That up from Heav'n's pure soil are springing,
Where waits that angel-babe of ours,
'Tis there—'tis there my heart is clinging!
Oh! my Ellie Maylie dear,
My gentle, trusting Ellie Maylie,
Lulled to rest
On Jesus' breast,
We'll meet in Heav'n, my Ellie Maylie!