Baby with the hat and plume
And the scarlet cloak so fine,
Come where thou hast rest and room,
Little darling mine!

Whence those eyes so crystal clear?
Whence those curls so silky soft?
Thou art Mother's darling dear,
I have told thee oft.

Like a sunbeam in the room,
Creeping near thy Mother's heart,
Shade of discontent and gloom,
Comes not where thou art.

Like a silv'ry vision thou,
Twinkling as a distant star,
And the lustre on thy brow
Shineth from afar.