The angel that takes care of the tender lambs and sprinkles dew upon the flowers, in the still night, takes care of thee, dear little one, and lets no evil come to thy tender years.

Fair child! when I gaze into thy soft, dark eyes, my childhood returns, like a bright vision, and I think of the time when every sight and every sound in nature gave to me such sweet delight, and all seemed so fair. I almost fancy I hear thy gentle voice breathing forth thy joy in sweet and happy words, such as little children are wont to use when they first begin to look up into the blue sky, to gaze upon the rainbow, or the bright clouds that float over the moon.

The bright sun, the moon and stars, the murmuring rivulet, the broad ocean heaving to and fro in the sunlight, the thunder and the storm, the quiet glen where I listened to the busy hum of the insects, the joyous song of the birds, as they flew from spray to spray, the odour of fresh flowers—all filled my breast with heavenly love and peace; and when I look into thy face, dear Sophia, I feel my soul return to join you, and I forget the present, and live only in the past.

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