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THE POET's PETITION.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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THE POET's PETITION.

TO AN INFANT.

Although of such—as Fancy and as Faith
Pourtray to Man—are Heav'n's Inhabitants—so shap'd,
So featur'd; and, if fair as Thee,
Sweet one, scarce wanting Angel wings
To bear thee to thy Cherub Sisterhood—
Ah! in soft pity, aid with thy pure breath
Thy Poet's prayer! O fold thy seraph hands,
And to the Firmament lift thy mild eye
Of kindred blue, and raise thy tender voice
Of kindred harmony, to supplicate
The Power who made and owns Thee, yet to lend,
Ev'n as a Beam of his own Blessed Self,

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Thy Graces to the Earth! Ah loveliest Babe!
Spirits there are too thrift in this bad world,
Spirits of Darkness! sprung from the foul Fiend,
Who fills them with the poisons of their Sire:
And oft assuming, infant Innocence!
Thy lilied robe and thy unspotted look,
They stain Life's fairest path, and from the Rose
Of Friendship, and of Love, and sacred Truth,
Tear ev'ry fragrant Leaf, wither the Branch,
And rend the holy Roots! and in their place
Set Slander's deadly Nightshade, Fraud and Strife,
The Mind's dire Hellebore.—But thou, sweet Bud!
No secret worm, no canker nourishest
In thy pure folds; nor dare even Slander's self
Sully thy whiteness, or thy perfume blast
With her empoison'd breath. Tarry then,
Ah tarry, with thy fair ethereal Powers,
To cheer us and to bless. Petition Heaven;
And how can Heaven refuse an Angel's Pray'r?