Classic Poem

Six changeful years are gone, Lily,
Since you were born, to be
A darling to your mother good,
A happiness to me;
A little, shivering, feeble thing
You were to touch and view,
But we could see a promise in
Your baby eyes of blue.

You fastened on our hearts, Lily,
As day by day wore by,
And beauty grew upon your cheeks,
And deepened in your eye;
A year made dimples in your hands,
And plumped your little feet,
And you had learned some merry ways
Which we thought very sweet.

And when the first sweet word, Lily,
Your wee mouth learned to say,
Your mother kissed it fifty times,
And marked the famous day.
I know not even now, my dear,
If it were quite a word,
But your proud mother surely knew,
For she the sound had heard.

When you were four years old, Lily, —
You were my little friend,
And we had walks, and nightly plays,
And talks without an end.
You little ones are sometimes wise,
For you are undefiled;
A grave grown man will start to hear
The strange words of a child.

When care pressed on our house, Lily, —
Pressed with an iron hand —
I hated mankind for the wrong
Which festered in the land;
But when I read your young frank face, —
Its meanings, sweet and good,
My charities grew clear again,
I felt my brotherhood.

And sometimes it would be, Lily,
My faith in God grew cold,
For I saw virtue go in rags,
And vice in cloth of gold;
But in your innocence, my child,
And in your mother's love,
I learned those lessons of the heart
Which fasten it above.

At last our cares are gone, Lily,
And peace is back again,
As you have seen the sun shine out
After the gloomy rain;
In the good land where we were born,
We may be happy still,
A life of love will bless our home —
The house upon the hill.

Thanks to your gentle face, Lily!
Its innocence was strong
To keep me constant to the right,
When tempted by the wrong.
The little ones were dear to Him
Who died upon the Rood —
I ask his gentle care for you,
And for your mother good.