Dear Child, we now are left alone on earth,
The grave has those who loved us—desolate
Our home of happiness: the dear fire-side
Round which we clung has many a vacant place—
Death has pass'd over it.

There is no smile to answer thine,
    No gentle lip thy lip to press;
There is no look of love, save mine,
    To meet thy look in tenderness.

But thou art dearer, thus bereft,
    Since all who loved thee so are gone;
Dearer to me thus lonely left,
    Oh far more dear, thou orphan'd one!

I loved thee well in happier hour.
    Not then thus desolate on earth,—
When thou wert as a favourite flower,
    The cherished blossom of our hearth.

Now thou and I alone remain,
    And thou art doubly dear to me!
A sweet link of the broken chain
    Whose last fond relic rests with thee.⁠L.E.L.