A Mother's Birth-Day Gift.
11
But each successive year that's past
Has left in you its sign,
And now the eldest numbers ten,
The other nearly nine—
And yet I know not which to choose,
The infant or the boy
With open brow and laughing eye,
Fearless and full of joy.
Has left in you its sign,
And now the eldest numbers ten,
The other nearly nine—
And yet I know not which to choose,
The infant or the boy
With open brow and laughing eye,
Fearless and full of joy.
Ye're very dear to me, my boys,
Ye're very dear to me,
There's nought so precious to my heart
As my home treasures be;
And I can cast all else aside,
And with Rome's matron say,
"These are my jewels," these alone—
God keep them bright alway!
Ye're very dear to me,
There's nought so precious to my heart
As my home treasures be;
And I can cast all else aside,
And with Rome's matron say,
"These are my jewels," these alone—
God keep them bright alway!
I would into the future look,
And see you grown as men—
Your childhood's sorrows, childhood's joys
Will ne'er return again;
But though earth's honors on you wait,
And wealth may be your own,
You'll look back on these happy days
And sigh that they are gone.
And see you grown as men—
Your childhood's sorrows, childhood's joys
Will ne'er return again;
But though earth's honors on you wait,
And wealth may be your own,
You'll look back on these happy days
And sigh that they are gone.
