« VorigeDoorgaan »
“ A joyful and pleasant thing it is to be thankful.”
Why so stately, Maiden fair,
Rising in thy nurse's arms
Gathering up thy queenly charms,
Like some gorgeous Indian bird,
Turns the glowing neck, to chide
Again its lustre deep Under the purple wing, best home of downy sleep?
Not as yet she comprehends
How the tongues of men reprove,
Train’d in Heaven to courteous love,
And with wondering grave rebuke Tempers, to-day, shy tone and bashful look.
'tis all of thee, Who for her maiden bounty, full and free,
The violet from her gay And guileless bosom, didst no word of thanks repay.
Therefore, lo, she opens wide
Both her blue and wistful eyes,-
Our too tardy sympathies.
Little Babes and Angels bright-
How th' all-holy Hand should give,
We see it and we hear, But wonder not : for why ? we feel it all too near.
Not in vain, when feasts are spread,
To the youngest at the board*
And pronounce the solemn word.
Not in vain they clasp and raise
* See Hooker, E. P. v. 31. 2.
Taught perchance by pictur'd wall How little ones before the Lord may fall,
How to His lov’d caress Reach out the restless arm, and near and nearer press.
Children in their joyous ranks,
As you pace the village street,
If but once one babe you greet.
Never weary, never dim,
Babes and Angels grudge no praise :-
fearless take Their portion, hear the Grace, and no meek answer
Save our blessings, Master, save
From the blight of thankless eye :
Benediction pure and high,
Own them given, endure them gone, Shrink from their hardening touch, yet prize them
Prize them as rich odours, meet For Love to lavish on His Sacred Feet ;
Prize them as sparkles bright Of heavenly dew, from yon o'erflowing well of light.
CHILDREN WITH DUMB CREATURES.
“ The sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice' den."
Thou mak'st me jealous, Infant dear ;
Why wilt thou waste thy precious smiles,
Thy beckonings blithe, and joyous wiles,
Why court the deaf and blind ?
Towards the inferior kind ?
We tempt thee much to look and sing,
Thy mimic notes are rather drawn
From feathered playmates on the lawn.