 | A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems |  |
117
TO A CHILD TWO YEARS OLD.
Sweet boy, thou bearest a noble name,
To which more genuine honour clings
Than muse of mine would dare to claim
For warriors, statesmen, bards, or kings:
These prove, too oft, ignoble things,
Howe'er the world their glory praise,
Or poets tune their lyres' proud strings
To servile, but elaborate lays.
To which more genuine honour clings
Than muse of mine would dare to claim
For warriors, statesmen, bards, or kings:
These prove, too oft, ignoble things,
Howe'er the world their glory praise,
Or poets tune their lyres' proud strings
To servile, but elaborate lays.
118
Yes, unto thee a name is given,
Perchance a humble one on earth,
Yet haply registered in heaven,
With their's of purest, holiest worth:
Who, undeterred by Folly's mirth,
Fashion's cold sneer, Oppression's rod,
Held fast to hopes of heavenly birth,
And knew no fear but that of God.
Perchance a humble one on earth,
Yet haply registered in heaven,
With their's of purest, holiest worth:
Who, undeterred by Folly's mirth,
Fashion's cold sneer, Oppression's rod,
Held fast to hopes of heavenly birth,
And knew no fear but that of God.
E'en such was he who owned of yore
Thy name, and gave it meek renown;
Nobly his Master's cross he bore,
And fearless won the unfading crown:
The worldling's jest, the bigot's frown
He braved, and in them could rejoice;
A dungeon's floor his bed of down,
An outcast's lot his cheerful choice.
Thy name, and gave it meek renown;
Nobly his Master's cross he bore,
And fearless won the unfading crown:
The worldling's jest, the bigot's frown
He braved, and in them could rejoice;
A dungeon's floor his bed of down,
An outcast's lot his cheerful choice.
Dear boy, since such a name is thine,
May grace be given thee from on high,
By Him who every gift divine
To those who seek it will supply;
To guard its pure integrity
Through life, in thought, act, word, and will;
And when thou 'rt called upon to die,
To leave it undishonoured still.
May grace be given thee from on high,
By Him who every gift divine
To those who seek it will supply;
119
Through life, in thought, act, word, and will;
And when thou 'rt called upon to die,
To leave it undishonoured still.
| A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems | |