Poor Tom is far from his cottage now,
From his own good wife, and children three,
Where coffee, and rice, and cedars grow,
By a wide old river like the sea.

And he has a master rich and kind,
With all that his heart can well desire,
But homeward still goes the negro's mind,
To the curly heads by his cottage fire.

He the gentle Eva's life did save,
When over the great ship's side she fell,
And brought her up from the drowning wave, —
So Eva had grown to love him well.

She will read to Tom for hours on hours,
And sit with him on the grass all day;
You see she is wreathing pretty flowers,
About his neck, in her pleasant play.

Different in colour and in years
Are the negro man and that fair child's face;
But a likeness in God's sight appears,
For both are the children of his grace.