| |
| HER little shoes! we sit and muse | |
| Upon the dainty feet that wore them; | |
| By day and night our souls’ delight | |
| Is just to dream and ponder o’er them. | |
| We hear them patter on the floor, | 5 |
| In either hand a toy or rattle; | |
| And what speaks to our hearts the more— | |
| Her first sweet words of infant prattle. | |
| |
| I see the face so fair, and trace | |
| The dark-blue eye that flashed so clearly; | 10 |
| The rose-bud lips, the finger-tips | |
| She learned to kiss—oh, far too dearly | |
| The pearly hands turned up to mine, | |
| The tiny arms my neck caressing; | |
| Her smile, that made our life divine, | 15 |
| Her silvery laugh—her kiss, a blessing. | |
| |
| Her winning ways, that made the days | |
| Elysian in their grace so tender, | |
| Through which Love’s child our souls beguiled | |
| For seeming ages starred with splendour: | 20 |
| No wonder that the angel-heirs | |
| Did win our darling life’s-joy from us, | |
| For she was theirs—not all our prayers | |
| Could keep her from the Land of Promise. | |
| |
