Fair tiny rosebud! what a tide
Of hidden joy, o-erpow-ring, deep,
Of grateful love, of woman-s pride,
Thrills through my heart till I must weep
With bliss to look on thee, my son,
My first born child-my darling one!

What joy for me to sit and gaze
Upon thy gentle, baby face,
And, dreaming of far distant days,
With mother-s weakness strive to trace
Tokens of future greatness high,
On thy smooth brow and lustrous eye.

What do I wish thee, darling, say?
Is it that lordly mental power
That o-er thy kind will give thee sway,
Unchanging, full, a glorious dower
For those whose minds may grasp its worth,
True rulers and true kings of earth?

Or would I ask for thee that fire
Of wond-rous genius, great divine,
The spell that charms the poet-s lyre,
Till like a halo it will shine
Around a name praised, honored, sung,
In distant climes by many a tongue?

Ah, no! my child, with such vain themes
I will not mar thy quiet rest
Nor wish ambition-s restless dreams
Infused into thy tranquil breast;
Too soon will manhood-s weight of care
O-ercloud that waxen brow so fair.

For thee, my Babe, I only pray
Thou-lt live to bless thy parents- love,
To be their hope, their earthly stay,
And gaining grace from heaven above,
Tread in the path the good have trod,
True to thy country and thy God!