 | Poetry for children |  |
Birth-Day Verses.
TO A LITTLE GIRL WHO HAD LOST HER MOTHER.
We love the flower that decks the spray,
And brightens thro' the summer-day,
We praise the fruit, whose ripening hue
Of gold or crimson meets our view;
But with delight far more refin'd,
Behold the fair, expanding mind,
Whose radiant blossoms charm the eye,
Whose hallow'd fruits can never die.
And brightens thro' the summer-day,
64
Of gold or crimson meets our view;
But with delight far more refin'd,
Behold the fair, expanding mind,
Whose radiant blossoms charm the eye,
Whose hallow'd fruits can never die.
An eye there was whose tender beam
Hung o'er thy being's earliest dream,
That once upon this rising morn
Wept tears of joy that thou wert born;
And now, perchance, with watchful zeal,
With such pure love as angels feel,
Regards thee from that realm of day,
Where every tear is wip'd away.
Hung o'er thy being's earliest dream,
That once upon this rising morn
Wept tears of joy that thou wert born;
And now, perchance, with watchful zeal,
With such pure love as angels feel,
Regards thee from that realm of day,
Where every tear is wip'd away.
Oh choose the path, that Mother trod,
Belov'd on earth, and blest of God;
At Pity's call, at Sorrow's sigh,
Pour forth her heaven-taught sympathy,
Her image in its grace restore,
Print on thy brow the smile she wore,
Bare as she bore, a Saviour's name,
—What higher wish can Friendship frame?
Belov'd on earth, and blest of God;
At Pity's call, at Sorrow's sigh,
Pour forth her heaven-taught sympathy,
Her image in its grace restore,
Print on thy brow the smile she wore,
Bare as she bore, a Saviour's name,
—What higher wish can Friendship frame?
| Poetry for children | |