Theophilus Richmond implies that he composed the song in a September 3rd, 1837 journal entry -- that seems unlikely, given the previously-cited publication antedating by a few weeks (as well as an earlier identical edition in The West Briton and Cornwall Advertiser, March 3rd 1837, p. 4). Most likely, I think he is taking credit only for the latter half of the verse. From The first crossing : being the diary of Theophilus Richmond, ship's surgeon aboard the Hesperus, 1837-8, pp. 90-92

The last few days have been so dreadfully cold, damp & disagreeable that I have done little else but lie between blankets sometimes reading and sometimes composing; my thoughts were directed towards the latter recreation by a letter that Mrs W. read to me, but being too long to describe in prose, I shall attempt it (for the lack of other matter) in verse — The subject is rather melancholy, but I never read anything more beautifully described than a child's deathbed was in that letter.

The Widow and her Child
Part 1st = The Questioner =

Where does my Father stay so long,
Mother from you and I?
Why does he not return again,
Why do you weep and sigh?
Three months you said he would remain
And leave us all alone,
Yet by the winter's storm and snow,
Twelve months are past and gone.

How well I now remember him,
As he held me on his knee,
There is the lovely bird he brought
From the far Indian tree.
All other ships are coming in
Parting the white waves' foam,
When will my Father's ship return,
Oh! when will he come home?

Thy Father tarried long my child,
Upon the distant main,
The hurricane the ocean swept
He'll ne'er return again.
His gallant bark my gentle boy,
Now rests beneath the wave,
That placid, calm and smiling sea,
Flows o'er thy Father's grave.

Again you weep my Mother dear,
Shall we not see him more?
"Ask if the deep and fathomless,
The dead again restore.
Sweet child thou art the only tie
The world has left to me,
But he from Heaven beyond that sky,
Will watch and smile o'er thee."

Part 2nd = The Dreamer =
Oh Mother, dear Mother what dreams of delight,
Here brightened and gladden'd my slumbers tonight!
Me thought the kind Father we mourn for as dead
Had returned to our dwelling and stood by my bed.
He questioned me much on the paths I had trod,
Of affection to you and obedience to God:
And my answers he seem'd so rejoiced to obtain,
And said that ere long I should meet him again.

The Mother felt faint and desponding of heart,
She looked on her child and she knew they must part,
For the flush on his cheek and the light in his eye,
Foretold that the sweet one was destined to die.
One murmuring thought on her trial she cast,
But she sunk on her knees—the temptation was past,
And she sobbed forth while clasping the hand of her son,
"Let thy will not mine blessed Saviour be done".

Night came—the fair boy was reposing in sleep,
His Mother sat near him to watch and to weep:
The Volume of Life her sad vigils beguiled,
As she turned o'er its pages, and look'd on her child:
On his young lip a smile now appeared to arise,
And he suddenly opened his radiant eyes,
Then stretched forth his arms as tho' called to his home,
And softly he whispered, "Dear Father I come".

Life fled in that moment—all cares were in vain,
Friends came at the tidings, a sorrowing train;
They wept for the sweet playful child they had known,
But more for the widow deserted and lone.
Yet not without hope her affliction deplore,
For the God who has taken can also restore,
And the desolate widow has trust in his love,
Who can call her to join the dear lost ones above.