Her heart knew naught of sorrow, Nor the vaguest taint of sin -- 'Twas an ever-blooming blossom Of the purity within: And her hands knew only touches Of the mother's gentle care, And the kisses and caresses Through the interludes of prayer.
Her baby-feet had journeyed Such a little distance here, They could have found no briers In the path to interfere; The little cross she carried Could not weary her, we know, For it lay as lightly on her As a shadow on the snow.
And yet the way before us -- O how empty now and drear! -- How ev'n the dews of roses Seem as dripping tears for her!
And the song-birds all seem crying, As the winds cry and the rain, All sobbingly, -- "We want -- we want Our little girl again! "
End of title
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