O little child, that once was I And still in part must be, When other children pass me by, Again thy face I see. Where art thou? Can the innocence That here no more remains, Forget, though early banished hence, What memory retains? Alas! and could'st thou look upon The features that were thine, To see of tender graces none Abiding now in mine, Thy heart compassionate would plead, And, haply, not in vain, As Angel Guardian, home to lead The wanderer again. |