The following poem was written to soothe and comfort my daughter Flora, when lying low with typhoid fever in Detroit, while her then only child, Margaret, thirteen months old, was at my house in St. Clair. The acts attributed to the child actually occurred. Come to my arms, my little sprite, And help me in some verses write How one can be so strong and bold, And little more than one year old; Many good things I learn from thee, How sweet to smile and cheerful be, That would adorn my life’s own page, Tho I am fifty times your age. Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, My darling Flora’s Margaret. What does she say when looking wise, And gazing straight into my eyes, Wondering if I understand, The pretty sounds at her command? Men of great wealth may own their towns, And kings and queens may wear their crowns, I would not care for crowns or herds, Could I interpret baby words. Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, My darling Flora’s Margaret. But listen! something jars the wall, My pretty pet has had a fall, And quick she rises from the floor, Smiling as sweetly as before; She seems to know life’s just begun, And oft she’ll fall ere it is done, And thus she teaches fallen men, With cheerfulness to rise again. Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, My darling Flora’s Margaret. I love to see her bright blue eyes, That shine like Venus in the skies, I love to see her dimpled hands, That do whate’er her will commands; I love to see and count her toes, And gently touch her handsome nose, I love her smile, I love her charms, And love to take her in my arms. Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, My darling Flora’s Margaret. She slaps me hard to make me cry, Then watches for the swelling eye, And when she sees that I am sad, Kisses me quick to make me glad, Then rubs her cheek against my face, And clasps me in a fond embrace, O that my life could be so good, As bubbling, loving, babyhood. Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, My darling Flora’s Margaret. They tell me that Heaven is grand, A beautiful and happy land, Imagination hath its dream, And unknown things delightful seem; I ask no land more grand than this, Where babies live to swell our bliss, With sickness out this world would be, A happy land for all like me. Her father’s pride, her grandma’s pet, My darling Flora’s Margaret. THE RICH, SWEET SOUND OF THE HUMAN VOICE.