Lament For My Daughter. Poem by Samuel Bamford

My angel child! my angel child!
Gentle, affectionate, and mild;
Her arms around my neck she coil'd,
And look'd, and wept, my angel child!

She wept that we so soon must part;
She knew that death was near her heart.
We were but three, O, God above!
Couldst Thou not spare that group of love?

Oh, mournful hour! oh, anguish deep!
She, weeping, bade me not to weep;
And meekly in her tears she smil'd,
Like sunbeam cast on ruin wild.

Sweet flowers unto her grave I bring,
To bloom, to die, in early spring;
All pure, and beautiful, and mild,
Like my lost dove, my angel child!