To Fredric Poem by Thomas Cowherd

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.