University of Virginia Library

“Of such,” the kingdom in the skies prepared.
Alas! how rarely do such words impress
An awe most vital, on the Souls which read
The letter only, but the life forego.
For here Philosophy and Reason stand
Rebuked, and silent; learning, language, art,
The palms of Mind, the laurels of Renown,
The shout of Senates, and the world's applause,
How weak, and worthless, absolutely nought
When rank'd beside the destiny of babes!
And yet, to souls of earth, who measure truth
By sight, organic flesh alone they seem
Scarce by a spark of intellect inspired!
A mother's plaything, or a father's toy,
Incarnate trifles, fit for woman's smile
To gild and welcome, or her lulling voice
To soothe and soften when the temper cries,
Such may they look, to undiscerning mind!
But, since Emmanuel hath the skies unveil'd
And taught Religion to behold them there,
As true inheritors of conscious bliss
In yon bright kingdom,—let our Faith a child
Revere; and look upon its pleading form
With love, by venerating awe subdued;
As well we ponder, how beneath that frame,
Though fragile as the web of dew, there lies
A spirit with eternity instinct!
Nor doubt, that He whose hallow'd unction gave
Prophets their light and brave Apostles zeal,
Through all its faculties can so diffuse
Enlarging grace, that what on earth appear'd
Little beyond a mindless form of clay,
At the first bound which into light it makes
When disembodied,—may at once eclipse
Archangels in their knowledge; and from God
A coronet beyond the Cherubim to match
In splendour, on its infant-brow receive!

But dare we, by some earth-born pride betray'd,
Presume to question, why a sinless babe
In this bleak world of wo and crime, should live?
If but a moment on this earth it breathe,
Untaught, untried, untempted and unskill'd,
Neither by reason proved, nor faith inform'd,
What is it, but a blank of being lost,
In life all mystery, and in death no more?

Yet who are we, but stammering babes of dust,
When upward as to God's untold designs
Fancy attempts to soar on fearless wing?
But thou, fond mother! o'er thy pallid child
In coffin'd beauty for the tomb array'd,
Cold as the flowers which on it calmly lie,
Hush the wild language of thy heart's despair!
For in the twilight of our doom there flash
Gleams of instruction through the cloud of death
By wisdom darted on believing souls.
See, how the Fall when infants die, is proved,
Stung by that fatal sting, which stingeth all!
Mute sermons preach they upon primal Sin
Beyond all pulpits, in their palmiest hour
Of eloquence and truth! O who that feels
The wear and waste of this soul-trying world
Where life is one long martyrdom to most,
However gilded, back would e'er recall
The child of mercy, unto heaven resumed?
The crown it wears, but has not fought the fight,
Reaches the goal, but has not won the race;
Balm to bereavement let this thought inspire!
But with it, may this added comfort blend,—
That as eternity the dead absorbs
Youthful, or aged, our affections seek
That mystic Home with more familiar sway.
'Tis not a solitude which awed Amaze
Dreads to encounter; but a peopled clime
Fill'd with the loved and lost, we long to meet
And once more welcome! And beyond this bright
Assurance may consoled Reflection press
Inquiry: for when shuddering Reason starts
To think on millions of unpitied babes
Mangled, and massacred in heathen climes,
How do those words, so tenderly profound
Of Jesus, light the path of Providence,
Which tell us, Heaven the murder'd child receives,
Whose death-pangs lift a stainless heart to God,
Through early martyrdom to glory rapt.

And hence, true mothers! ye, at least, are bound
To Jesus; in His words an echo dwells
To each inquiry, which beyond the grave
Longs to pursue an infant's parted soul.
Love to Emmanuel! let your motto be;
And so on Childhood's brow of beauty gaze,
As that whereon the Sacrament shall print
A sealing import; then, your child devote
Like Anna, early to the Lord of love,
And from the cradle guide it to the Cross!