Just fifty years, my daughters,
Just fifty years, my son,
Since your sire and I together
The march of life begun.
It does not seem so long ago
As _half a hundred years_,
Since hand in hand we started out,
To face life's toils and tears.
And toils, and tears, too, we have met;
Yet sunbeams oft have come--
Many and beautiful, and bright--
To cheer our happy home;
Sweet infant faces, thro' the years,
Are smiling back to me;
And, God be praised, each precious one
Still at my side I see!
Yet ye are changed, my children three,
Your baby-bloom is gone;
And you are growing old, I see,
Grey hairs are coming on;
Yet when I, musing, close my eyes,
I see you as you were
In those old years when cloudless skies
Dropped sunshine on your hair.
The patter of your busy feet
Still rings upon the floor,
And song, and jest, and laughter sweet
Float round me as of yore;--
Yet when I open eager eyes,
To watch your pastimes gay,
Your children's faces round me rise--
Yourselves have done with play.
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