The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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THE POET TO HIS CHILD. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
22
THE POET TO HIS CHILD.
Hail to this teeming stage of strife,—
Hail, lovely miniature of life;
Parent of many cares untold,
Lamb of the world's extended fold.
Byron.
Hail, lovely miniature of life;
Parent of many cares untold,
Lamb of the world's extended fold.
Byron.
Welcome! blossom fair!
Affection's dear reward;
Oh! welcome to thy father's sight,
Whose heart o'erflows with new delight,
And tenderest regard;
While on thine eyes
Soft slumber lies,
And, bending o'er thy face, I feel thy breath arise.
Affection's dear reward;
Oh! welcome to thy father's sight,
Whose heart o'erflows with new delight,
And tenderest regard;
While on thine eyes
Soft slumber lies,
And, bending o'er thy face, I feel thy breath arise.
Upon thy mother's cheek
Are trembling tears of joy:
We have no thought of worldly pain—
Past hours of bliss are felt again,
Unmingled with alloy;
May Heaven hear
The prayer sincere
Which, for thy earthly weal, a father offers here!
Are trembling tears of joy:
We have no thought of worldly pain—
Past hours of bliss are felt again,
Unmingled with alloy;
May Heaven hear
The prayer sincere
Which, for thy earthly weal, a father offers here!
May Death's relentless hand
Some kind protector spare,
To guide thy steps through childhood's day—
To train them in religion's way,
By teaching early prayer;
In every hour
Check evil's power,
And in thy guileless heart plant virtue's fadeless flower!
Some kind protector spare,
To guide thy steps through childhood's day—
To train them in religion's way,
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In every hour
Check evil's power,
And in thy guileless heart plant virtue's fadeless flower!
Youth hath a thousand dreams,
As false as they are fair;
And womanhood's sad season brings
The stern reality of things—
Too oft the blight of care;
For man deceives,
And woman grieves
When passion plucks joy's flower, and scatters all its leaves.
As false as they are fair;
And womanhood's sad season brings
The stern reality of things—
Too oft the blight of care;
For man deceives,
And woman grieves
When passion plucks joy's flower, and scatters all its leaves.
May no such lot be thine,
My loved and only child!
Nor sin's remorse, nor sorrow's ruth;
But wedded love and holy truth
Preserve thee undefiled!
And when life's sun
Its course hath run,
Be thy departing words—“My God! thy will be done!”
My loved and only child!
Nor sin's remorse, nor sorrow's ruth;
But wedded love and holy truth
Preserve thee undefiled!
And when life's sun
Its course hath run,
Be thy departing words—“My God! thy will be done!”
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |