Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Harp of Renfrewshire

But more because it marks the spring
Wlien baby dear was born,
And brought its early offering
To grace this happy morn."
I raised the rose tree blooming fair
With buds on every bough,
And planted it with tender care
Where thy cradle standeth now.
But, ah me ! every green leaf
Fell withering from the tree,
And then we thought, with bitter grief.
Of early death to thee.
Our friends all said, — " No skill or toil
Can keep this tree alive ;
'Twas wrong to take it from the soil,
Where it alone could thrive."
We heard the words with blank dismay.
So deep a wound they made :
" It must not die — No ! come what may,
'Ttoill live,''' — we rashly said.
We lifted it with anxious care,
And we planted it once more
In the dear old spot, in the open air,
Beside our cottage door.
We screened it that the sun might spare.
We fed with gentle rain ;
And buds and leaves and blossoms fair
Rewarded all our pain.