YE COME TO ME IN DREAMS.

Ye come to me in dreams, baby, In visions of the night; Thy blue eye, full of blessedness, Is glancing on my sight: The music of thy breath, baby, Is falling on my ear, In those dear old-accustomed tones I loved so well to hear. Again upon my heart, baby, Thy little hand is prest, Again thy little nestling head Is pillowed on my breast; Again my lips are murmuring Low words of love and prayer; I strive to draw thee closer yet, But clasp the vacant air; And then I wake to weep, baby, Rememb'ring thou art dead; And never more can my poor heart Pillow thy little head! Yet I am happy even now— This thought my grief disarms— A few short months I fondly clasped An angel in my arms: That loftier minds than mine, baby, Will now instruct thy youth, And holier hearts will point the path Of innocence and truth. Thou wert my blessing here on earth, And though tears dim my eyes, I feel that I am richer far To have thee in the skies!