I.

O, my child, thy cheeks are fair!
 O, my child, thy locks are bright!
And thou knowest not the care
 That is in my heart to-night!
Blithe as bird on airy wing—
Pure thy soul as crystal spring—
Thou canst laugh and thou canst sing—
Happy child!

II.

O, my child, to be as thou,
 I would gleefully forego
Hopes of laurel on my brow—
 And the little that I know;
I would barter manhood's prime
For a day of thy glad time
On the verge of Heaven's clime—
Blesséd child!

III.

O, my child, the thought is vain.
 I have quaffed life's crystal draught,
I have sung my careless strain
 Till the very echoes laughed;
Now my songs are turned to sighs,
And a grave before me lies
Under barren, winter skies—
Ah, my child!