Watching for Papa

She always stood upon the steps Just by the cottage door, Waiting to kiss me when I came Each night home from the store. Her eyes were like two glorious stars, Dancing in heaven’s own blue— “Papa,” she ’d call like a wee bird, “I ’s looten out for oo!” Alas! how sadly do our lives Change as we onward roam! For now no birdie voice calls out To bid me welcome home. No little hands stretched out for me, No blue eyes dancing bright, No baby face peeps from the door When I come home at night. And yet there ’s comfort in the thought That when life’s toil is o’er, And passing through the sable flood I gain the brighter shore, My little angel at the gate, With eyes divinely blue, Will call with birdie voice, “Papa, I ’s looten out for oo!”