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That year to thee, one dream of love,
 Has passed without a care or sin;
O that thy future lot might prove
 As calm without, as pure within!

Blessings upon that merry heart,
 That joyous laugh and clear blue eye
Death's awful shade, and sorrow's smart,
 Without a stain have passed thee by:
And still I trust, for many a year,
 No grief may dim that sunny brow,
Save such as childhood's ready tear
 And mingling smile betokens now.

Thy father's pride, thy mother's joy,
 Hope of an ancient race art thou;
And on thy head, my firstborn boy,
 Full many a blessing centres now.
Oh! may thy morn of life repay
 An hundredfold our anxious cares,
And manhood's ever brightening day
 Prove thee the child of many prayers.

But thou, sweet innocent, must brave
 At last the strife of man's career,
And stem perchance life's stormy wave,
 Afar from all who hold thee dear.
Alas! too soon the world may lure
 From wisdom's way thy guileless heart,
And dim that spirit bright and pure,
 Till hope grows cold and joys depart.