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O, rich the tint of earthly gold,
And keen the diamond's spark, But the young Lamb of Jesus' fold
Should other splendours mark.
To soothe him in the unquiet night
I ask no taper's gleam,
Falls from the Moon's soft beam.
His heart at early morn to store
With fancies fresh and rare, Count not thy jewels o'er and o'er,
Show him no mirror's glare,
But lift him where the Eastern heaven
Glows with the Sun unseen, Where the strong wings, to morning given,
Brood o'er a world serene.
There let him breathe his matin thought
Of pure unconscious love,
In silence from above.
Yet, might I choose a time, me seems
That earliest wistful gaze Were best to meet the softening beams
Of sunset's glowing maze.
Wide be the western casement thrown
At sultry evening's fall,
That weave Heaven's wondrous pall.
Calm be his sleep, whose eyelids close
Upon so fair a sight :
Her sweetest, best good night.
So hastes the Lord our hearts to fill
With calm baptismal grace, Preventing all false gleams of ill
By His own glorious Face.
“ And whence is this to me, that the Mother of my Lord should come to me? For, lo, as soon as the voice of thy salutation sounded in mine ears, the babe leaped in my womb for joy."
“ WHENCE is the mighty grace,
And who mine unborn boy,
He in my bosom leap for joy ?”
O cry of deep delight By Aaron's sainted daughter breath'd that hour ! O joy preventing life and light,
When th' Incarnate in His Power
Came to th' Unborn ! even now
Your echo faint we feel, When o'er the newly sealed brow
Glad airs and gleams of summer steal.
Oft as in sunbright dawn
Waves high his little arm,
His fontal name, Christ's saving charm :
Oft as in hope untold The parent's eye pursues that eager look, Enkindling like the shafts of old, Where mid the stars their way they took :* Still in Love's steady gaze,
In Joy's unbidden cry, That holy mother's glad amaze,
That infant's worship, we descry.
* Vir. An. v. 525.
Still Mary's Child unseen Comes breathing, in the heart just seald His own, Prayers of high hope : what bliss they mean, And where they soar, to Him is known ! But, joyous Mothers, mark,
And mark, exulting Sires, All who the pure baptismal spark
Would duteous nurse to saintly fires :
Stern is the Babe, and lone :
From Home's too soothing praise ;-
Increasing while his own decays.