To My Infant Daughter "Ada"

CHILD of my heart, my loved one, I view thy beauties shine, My work on earth is nearly done, Yet still I feel thou'rt mine.

My treasur'd child, my beautiful, With front of guileless mein And eyes like stars—(my heart is full, From wrongs I've felt and seen.)

But thou, sweet child, so young in years,— Dost wonder when I sigh— (Ah, could I weep—my deep-drawn tears Are still and sunk mine eye,)

On thee I gaz'd, as thou lay calm In sleep's refreshing rest, Yet when I sleep I close that balm That fills thy placid breast.

This very morn I stood beside The couch whereon you lay So still, so calm—Oh! I must hide The "grief that wears away!"

And wilt thou weep thy father's death When down'd in sable dress— When I'm laid low!—no flatt'ring breath— No blessing, nor caress!

Sweet Ada, thy infantive kiss Is all I crave from thee,— A brighter world, more fair than this I hasten to—I'm free!

And soon I'll die:—They cannot wane Thy feelings, child, astray From him whose greatest fault hath been The love of thee alway.

Farewell! Oh, on that parting word I breathe a father's pray'r— A prayer that is in Heav'n heard— Borne to me, Ada, there!