So in each budding inward grace The memory haply may retrace For of her Saints the Sacred Home Each a bright shadow in the gloom, And by those features, stern or sweet, Resigned or dauntless, all Heaven's keen-eyed Watchers use to mete, Which mortals holy call. "And hark," saith one," the soul I guide— I heard it gently sigh In such a tone as Peter sighed, Touched by his Saviour's eye." "And see," another cries, "how soft Smiles on that little child Yon aged man! even so full oft The loved Disciple smiled." And oh, be sure no guardian fires Than theirs, who scan the meek desires Of maiden in her quiet bower, But as when babes by look or tone In all the Parents' right we own, So in earth's saintly multitude In these, the Fountain Orb of Good, 3. THE LULLABY. THE western sky is glowing yet, A maiden rocks a babe to sleep, And times the cradle to her song ;- *Psalm lxxi. 1. New Version. Without a Psalm she breathes her strain, Lest haply ruder ears be nigh; Angels may read such words of power, And infants feel them: we the while But dimly guess, till in His hour We see the Lord's unclouded smile. Then spells that guarded us of old Their hidden virtue shall unfold: Charm'd writings are they now; no eye May read them till the fire be nigh. O awful touch of God made Man! By Thee our wearier age we bear. |