My Babe

By James Nack

My babe! my own, my precious babe!
When I behold thy charms,
And look upon the mother sweet
That folds thee in her arms,
It seems to me as I possessed
The richest treasures here --
For she is best of all the best,
Thou, dearest of the dear!

My babe! I have but little store
Of what most mortals prize;
And thousands pranked in pomp and pride
My humbler lot despise --
Yet thinking of my wife and child,
A prouder head I rear,
Blest with the best of all the best
And dearest of the dear!

My babe! thou hast no heritage
Except thy father's name,
Which in misfortune's worst despite
Has won its way to fame;
And fame is only precious, that
It serves the lot to cheer
Of these, the best of all the best,
And dearest of the dear.

My babe! if all my little store
Should in a moment end,
Should slander blast thy father's fame --
Forsake him every friend, --
Thy mother spared and thou, his head
Above the storm would rear,
Blest with the best of all the best,
And dearest of the dear!

My babe! in all thy path of life
Thy mother's steps pursue,
And let the pattern of her worth
Be ever in thy view;
So shall thy father's heart be glad
And proud of thy career,
And thou be best of all the best,
And dearest of the dear!