My Father Blessed Me

My fa­ther raised his trem­bling hand

And placed it on my head:

God’s bless­ing be on thee

my son!

Most ten­der­ly he said.

He died

and left no gems nor gold

But still was I his heir—

For that rich bless­ing which he gave

Became a for­tune rare.

And in my day of wea­ry toil

To earn my dai­ly bread

It glad­dens me in thought to feel

His hand up­on my head.

Though in­fant tongues to me have said

Dear fa­ther! oft since then

Yet when I bring that scene to mind

I’m but a child again.