The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
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ON AN INFANT NEPHEW. |
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 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
335
ON AN INFANT NEPHEW.
The little one—the little one!
'Tis a fearful thing and strange,
That the silent seasons as they run
Should work such mighty change;
The lips that cannot lisp my name
May rule the stern debate;
And the hands too weak for childhood's game
Sport with the falchion's weight!
'Tis a fearful thing and strange,
That the silent seasons as they run
Should work such mighty change;
The lips that cannot lisp my name
May rule the stern debate;
And the hands too weak for childhood's game
Sport with the falchion's weight!
The beauteous one—the beauteous one!
In the wide world, I wis,
There's many a beauteous thing, but none
Of beauty like to this.
In youth and age, earth's sinful leaven
Where'er we go we trace;
But there is only peace and Heaven
In the smile of an infant's face.
In the wide world, I wis,
There's many a beauteous thing, but none
Of beauty like to this.
In youth and age, earth's sinful leaven
Where'er we go we trace;
But there is only peace and Heaven
In the smile of an infant's face.
The merry one—the merry one!
He is all wit and whim;
Our life has nought but a cloudless sun
And a waveless sea for him.
He knows not sorrow's thorny path,
Nor pleasure's flowery snare,
Nor heeds the bitter glance of wrath,
Nor the haggard cheek of care.
He is all wit and whim;
Our life has nought but a cloudless sun
And a waveless sea for him.
336
Nor pleasure's flowery snare,
Nor heeds the bitter glance of wrath,
Nor the haggard cheek of care.
The cherished one—the cherished one!
A mystery is the love
Of parents for their infant son;
It cometh from above.
He is all music to their ear,
All glory to their sight,
By day he is their hope and fear,
Their thought and dream by night.
A mystery is the love
Of parents for their infant son;
It cometh from above.
He is all music to their ear,
All glory to their sight,
By day he is their hope and fear,
Their thought and dream by night.
The guiltless one—the guiltless one!
How blest the earth would be,
If her best and holiest men had done
No more of wrong than he!
If the blot of sin and the doom of pain
On the baby's brow be set,—
O brother!—who shall see the stain
Or read the sentence yet?
How blest the earth would be,
If her best and holiest men had done
No more of wrong than he!
If the blot of sin and the doom of pain
On the baby's brow be set,—
O brother!—who shall see the stain
Or read the sentence yet?
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |