You loved me dearly, Papa, I am sure,
But you mere, by penury held and shackled,
And knowing this I everything endure,
That your were by the fate unfairly tackled.
And in your zeal you haggled and reproved,
But dearly dearly, all the same you loved,
All my dark resentments, sentiments,
And all my doubts and dire presentiments.
Have mellowed down with time and this my mind,
Is full of memory of your ruth and love,
And Papa, you can see and you can probe,
That when I look ahead or look behind.
I think of you with love and happiness,
And not under compulsion and duress.