My Boy

I have a little boy at home,     A pretty little son;     I think sometimes the world is mine     In him, my only one.     But seldom, seldom do I see     My child in heaven's light;     I find him always fast asleep...     I see him but at night.     Ere dawn my labor drives me forth;     'Tis night when I am free;     A stranger am I to my child;     And strange my child to me.     I come in darkness to my home,     With weariness and--pay;     My pallid wife, she waits to tell     The things he learned to say.     How plain and prettily he asked:     "Dear mamma, when's 'Tonight'?     O when will come my dear papa     And bring a penny bright?"     I hear her words--I hasten out--     This moment must it be!--     The father-love flames in my breast:     My child must look at me!     I stand beside the tiny cot,     And look, and list, and--ah!     A dream-thought moves the baby-lips:     "O, where is my papa!"     I kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes;     I kiss them not in vain.     They open,--O they see me then!     And straightway close again.     "Here's your papa, my precious one;--     A penny for you!"--ah!     A dream still moves the baby-lips:     "O, where is my papa!"     And I--I think in bitterness     And disappointment sore;     "Some day you will awake, my child,     To find me nevermore."