TO FREDRIC

Fred, thou art six months old

This very day!

And I no more withold

From thee a lay.

That rosy, smiling face —

Thou need not fear —

Has weeks since claimed a place

‘ Midst “rhyming gear.”

Thy winning, childish pranks

Make further claim

To set thee in the ranks

Of infant fame.

But when I think what troubles

Thou hast passed through,

The obligation doubles

What I've to do —

In rhyming for thee, Fred,

My dark-eyed boy;

And I have left my bed

To sing the joy.

I feel from day to day

In seeing thee

So full of lively play —

Most sweet to see.

By such most lovely smiles,

Such crowing, too,

Ah, Fred, thy many wiles

Have charmed me through!

‘ Tis true Ma lost much rest,

By day and night,

Through thee when so distressed.

Which scarce seemed right.

But doubtless‘ twill be seen

To be for good,

Since God our Friend has been,

And by us stood.

Then, with this full in view

I‘ ll close my rhyme,

And hope that it may do

Thee good some time.