Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
 |
INFANT DEVOTION. |
|
| II. |
 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
INFANT DEVOTION.
How does the feeble infant feel,
When taught, by sober age, to kneel
Before that awful power, which shakes
Creation with a word, and makes
Vast worlds, like atoms, reel?
When taught, by sober age, to kneel
Before that awful power, which shakes
Creation with a word, and makes
Vast worlds, like atoms, reel?
Believes it that the lisping voice
Which makes a parent's heart rejoice—
Inspiring love, and faith, and zeal—
Rises above the thunder peal!
Dreams it how far faint accents reach?
Knows it the potency of speech?
Conceives it what it asks? or why
It turns to Heaven its earnest eye?
Which makes a parent's heart rejoice—
Inspiring love, and faith, and zeal—
Rises above the thunder peal!
Dreams it how far faint accents reach?
Knows it the potency of speech?
Conceives it what it asks? or why
It turns to Heaven its earnest eye?
Perchance the limits of its mind
Are yet too narrow and confined
To comprehend the vast amount
Of mercy craved on Christ's account;
Or to compute the power, above,
Of its own piety and love;
Where weakest words have mightiest weight,
And simple orisons are great.
Are yet too narrow and confined
To comprehend the vast amount
Of mercy craved on Christ's account;
Or to compute the power, above,
Of its own piety and love;
138
And simple orisons are great.
Yet, by the earnest look, and by
The hush of deep solemnity
Which I have seen diffused abroad
At mention of the name of God—
Stilling at once the playful noise
Of infant games, and infant joys;—
And by the oft half-hidden tear
Which flow'd some holy truth to hear—
By things like these, as by a part,
I still would judge the infant's heart:
And he who prompts its simple prayer
Will be the best interpreter.
The hush of deep solemnity
Which I have seen diffused abroad
At mention of the name of God—
Stilling at once the playful noise
Of infant games, and infant joys;—
And by the oft half-hidden tear
Which flow'd some holy truth to hear—
By things like these, as by a part,
I still would judge the infant's heart:
And he who prompts its simple prayer
Will be the best interpreter.
Nor will his promise fail—or truth—
To those who in the bud of youth
On his protecting mercy hung,
And praised him with a lisping tongue;
For “those,” 'tis said, “who early seek
Shall find,” although the voice be weak;
And blessings asked—as unawares—
By infant tongues, in lisped prayers,
May fall upon their riper years
To beautify the “vale of tears,”
As precious treasures, long mislay'd,
Forgot, and lost, but undecay'd,
Discovered in the hour of need,
Give unexpected joy indeed—
So age, in bankruptcy of joy,
May find the blessings which the boy
Besought from Heaven, at last descend
To brighten life's dark latter end.
Teach then, ye parents, teach, with care,
To every child the voice of prayer,
That God, when man has done his part,
May claim the homage of the heart.
To those who in the bud of youth
On his protecting mercy hung,
And praised him with a lisping tongue;
For “those,” 'tis said, “who early seek
Shall find,” although the voice be weak;
And blessings asked—as unawares—
By infant tongues, in lisped prayers,
May fall upon their riper years
To beautify the “vale of tears,”
As precious treasures, long mislay'd,
Forgot, and lost, but undecay'd,
Discovered in the hour of need,
Give unexpected joy indeed—
So age, in bankruptcy of joy,
May find the blessings which the boy
139
To brighten life's dark latter end.
Teach then, ye parents, teach, with care,
To every child the voice of prayer,
That God, when man has done his part,
May claim the homage of the heart.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |