The Daily Intelligencer

After Twenty Years.

Although you've been a husband true,
'Tis many a year gone by, John,
And I'm a faithful wife to you
(And I will be till I die, John.)
We led a lonely sort of life,
With no sweet child to bless us,
Till Bessy came last Christmas Day,
To comfort and caress us.
Our baby has a father gray,
A mother none too young,
John,
And yet it seems the time of May
E'er since our birdling sang, John;
She brought new life into the house,
The little prattling stranger,
And, John, she binds you to your home,
Who might have been a ranger.
Once every chair was in its place,
And not a thing awry, John.
Yet we two, sitting face to face,
Would often breathe a sigh, John.
But now upon our ample board
Is daily placed between us
A picture plate and porringer,
From loneliness to wean us,
While she, our little baby queen,
With eyes so like your own, John,
(The brightest, bluest ever seen,)
Eats with us on her throne, John.
Heaven guard our precious little one;
May angels fair that brought her
Protect from every threatening ill
The "old folks'" little daughter.