 | Sacra Poesis |  |
THE HOLY CHILD ASLEEP.
O break not the slumbers that sweetly posess him,
Dispel not the visions of glory that bless him!
His pure soul with seraphs is pouring its praises;
His young heart the anthem of gratitude raises.
Dispel not the visions of glory that bless him!
His pure soul with seraphs is pouring its praises;
His young heart the anthem of gratitude raises.
He knows 'tis himself that the Father has given,
That man may be rais'd to the portals of Heaven;
He feels that the might of the Spirit is o'er him;
He sees the reward of the blessed before him!
That man may be rais'd to the portals of Heaven;
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He sees the reward of the blessed before him!
Yet, ah! 'tis a journey of darkness and sadness
Must lead the young child to his kingdom of gladness:
Then, hush! his short slumber of happiness break not,—
O hush thee, my babe—unto sorrows awake not.
Must lead the young child to his kingdom of gladness:
Then, hush! his short slumber of happiness break not,—
O hush thee, my babe—unto sorrows awake not.
| Sacra Poesis | |