I HAVE a little nephew,

He is scarcely three years old,

With eyes of heaven's deepest blue,

And ringlets palely gold;

His mouth, a velvet rosebud red,

All hung with honey-dew;

But sweeter far our darling's lips

Than rose that ever grew!

I ne'er have found so dear a child,

Or one so strangely fair,

Or saw on infant brow like his

The mind that's slumb'ring there!

And oftentimes he utters things,

Confounding wise and old;

And from his baby lips we hear

What wisdom bath not told!

He's like a breath of summer air—

A dew-drop pure and bright,

That falls from Evening's closing eye,

To kiss the morning light:

A ray of sunshine, soft and warm—

A straying golden beam—

A silver singing rivulet—

Or joyous dancing stream!

He is the treasure of our heart—

The sunlight and the joy;

He'll lisp to you the names he bears,

Sweet, lovely, darling boy!

And when he comes with pleading words,

My work is laid away,

Or classic volume closed at once,

To join him in his play.

His voice is like a tiny lute,

And when he sweetly sings,

You'd think he was an angel, and

Be looking for his wings!

And oft I clasp him to my heart

With strange foreboding fear

That he's a straying seraph child

God only lends us here!

Such thoughts as these intruding come,

For in this world of ours

The loveliest things the soonest droop;

The fairest human flowers

Are ever first to pass away,

The first to fade and die—

Thus teaching us our treasures should

Be sought beyond the sky!

But we will love our "angel boy,"

And never cease to pray

That seraph forms may guide him here,

And hope that till life's closing breath,

As on his infant brow,

So Intellect and Innocence

May blend as pure as now!