Father, this is the time we hailed
As your bright birthday. We ne'er failed
To throng about with love's fond arts,
And bring you presents from our hearts;
Your pleasure filled our day with bliss;
Oh what a different one from this!
My love, my father! how you stood
‘ Twixt me and all that was not good!
How, each o'er-hurried breath I drew,
My girl-heart turned and clung to you!
How near comes back that dismal day
You sat, sad-faced, with naught to say,
From morn till night! I did not dare
Even to ask to soothe your care;
I knew it was too sadly grand
To feel the light touch of my hand.
Ah! friends you loved had gone astray,
And swept our competence away;
And oh, I strove so hard to save
Your honored gray hairs from the grave!
Too late! your sun went down o'er-soon,
Clouded, in life's mid-afternoon.
You guarded me with patience rare
From e'en the shadow of a care;
You called me “Princess;” and my room
Was dressed as palaces might be;
And — here I am amid this gloom
That mocks, insults, and murders me,
Striving a garret's rent to pay,
And — earning twenty cents a day!