I dream e'en now of you my child,
of happy days when we two will
together and with tempers mild -
pass days, pass days in tempo wild -
we'll share times good and ill.

I dream e'en now of you my child,
And shall not be content, content
with earthly tastes that I detect
that feed but the body's element,
and that the spirit will reject.

I dream e'en now of you my child,
you've fought on through now, fought on through
the night that the devil's evil hand
had used to shroud the promised land:
it has admitted you.

I dream e'en now of you, my child,
and walk the streets, walk through and through,
since in my secret soul abides
the thought on which my sole hope rides:
that God will grant me you.