In that meek, blue-eyed child.
And why the sigh? why sad the brow?
She conned it o’er and o’er,
And found out anxious thoughts, and how
They prey upon the poor.
Her soft young hands, she did not fear,
Could aid the feeble old:
How blest for her to wipe their tear,
And clothe them from the cold!
And she hath left the rose-clad cot,