From whence the offering rose—
Which fain would give its ‘little all,’
To soothe a mother’s woes!
Ah! when I gaze on thee my child,
I feel that wealth is mine;
For gems of the “first water,” are
Those guileless tears of thine.
’Tis thy caress, my blessed one!
The hopes in thee bound up,
That bid my thanks ascend to Heaven