Tune—Dibdin's Sailor's Journal

When morn's approach had banish'd night, And lovely May the world was cheering, My infant boy beheld the light, To greet a mother's fond endearing. His beauties charm'd the village round, So like his dad were all expressing, In June the christening bowl went round, And sweetly smil'd a parent's blessing.

'Twas August—scarce three years were o'er— And sweetly he began to prattle, When an old shipmate reach'd the shore, To tell his dad had fell in battle. I wept—reflection dried my tears; My boy requir'd each fond caressing; And with maternal hopes and fears I watch'd a widow'd parent's blessing.

When bleak November's winds did blow, To sea his daring spirit ventur'd, To part, my breast was frought with foe, For ev'ry hope in him was center'd. Five times December's moon had past, Deform'd by storms full oft distressing, When o'er the beach tript home in haste, To glad my heart, a parent's blessing.