To My Infant Daughter

Twelve moons have waxed and waned, twelve months gone by,
     Each with its pregnant history of tears
     In silence shed, of hopes grown dim, and fears
Dark’ning Life’s page, of grief and agony
Since to the light first oped thine infant eye,
     And broke thy feeble wailing on the air.
Time hath dealt kindly with thee, and the prayer
Of thy fond parents hath been hear on high.
Each day hath given new beauty to thy form,
     New lustre to thine eye, and to thy smile
     An added brightness—and our hearts the while
Have thrilled with new emotions, pure and warm;
And day by day we ask of God, dear child!
That He who gave may keep thee undefiled!