To My Fire by Egerton Webbe Lyrics

My little chirping fire, companion gay,
Whose merry gambols make me less alone,
A blessing on thy glee! Be ever known
At evening hour, when just the dying day
Hath made light sad.--Thou hast a pleasant way
Of muttering low, in many a little tone,
Quaint syllables--that scarcely from his own
The cricket knows, as pausing mid his play.
Sweet is thy precept in that listening hour;
Thou seemst to tell me with thy quiet mirth
How good is hope--regret how little worth:--
And perfect is thy love;--if fate but lour
When sharpest frost impends dost merriest burn.
The cold world leaves us,--thou, with kindlier burn.