Thomas Cole's poetry the collected poems of America's foremost painter of the Hudson River School reflecting his feelings for nature and the romantic spirit of the Nineteenth Century |
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 | Thomas Cole's poetry |  |
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[50. Upon the bosom of the infant year]
Upon the bosom of the infant year,
Our First-born! Thou wert brought to earth
The New Year rose—the day-dawn did appear,
And thou dids't breath the breath of life—Thy birth,
The mighty Year's—the Days coeval were—
Auspiciously thy earthly race begun:
No common natal hour was thine, my son!—
Our First-born! Thou wert brought to earth
The New Year rose—the day-dawn did appear,
And thou dids't breath the breath of life—Thy birth,
The mighty Year's—the Days coeval were—
Auspiciously thy earthly race begun:
No common natal hour was thine, my son!—
Thy name too hath a meaning “Theodore,”
The “Gift of God,” that I would ne'er forget;
And may the giver on the gift outpour
His choicest blessings, and before thee set
His shield; so, in the world's tumultuous roar
Thou shalt be strengthened, and sin's arrows fall
Innocuous—thy virtue conquering all—
The “Gift of God,” that I would ne'er forget;
And may the giver on the gift outpour
His choicest blessings, and before thee set
His shield; so, in the world's tumultuous roar
Thou shalt be strengthened, and sin's arrows fall
Innocuous—thy virtue conquering all—
If 'tis thy lot to live through many years
And this the utterance of a parent's love
Should merit thy gaze—think, think what anxious fears
What hopes, thy Mother's breast and mine did move,
As watching thee with tenderness and tears
We looked into the future, knowing well
That in the world, sorrow and sin do dwell.
And this the utterance of a parent's love
Should merit thy gaze—think, think what anxious fears
What hopes, thy Mother's breast and mine did move,
As watching thee with tenderness and tears
We looked into the future, knowing well
That in the world, sorrow and sin do dwell.
And may the love which now I would express
Bring to thine eyes a tear—strength to thy mind
To battle with temptation—onward press
In virtue's path, even for our sakes, and find
In our fond love a cause for lovingness;
And prove my son, when earth's dark vale is trod,
Thou wert indeed the very “Gift of God.”
Bring to thine eyes a tear—strength to thy mind
To battle with temptation—onward press
In virtue's path, even for our sakes, and find
In our fond love a cause for lovingness;
And prove my son, when earth's dark vale is trod,
Thou wert indeed the very “Gift of God.”
January 1, 1840
| Thomas Cole's poetry | |