When first thy mother gave thee me, my beautiful and wild,
And others sought to gaze upon and bless the pretty child,
And thy soft lip to mine was press’d, and thy soft hand I felt,
And felt all of a father’s heart within my bosom melt;
I know I heaved a sigh, for there was sadness in my joy—
Thou wert so very beautiful, my smiling little boy.
Where’er thou go’st, there seems to go a gladness, and a life,
Which all unfitted is for this dark world of sin and strife;
Thou dost remind me of the flowers that are when Spring comes on,
Thou dost remind me of the light when comes and goes the sun;