Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Infant Beauty

Infant Beauty.

I love to gaze upon the face, With infant beauty beaming,To watch the gay and artless grace, O'er every feature streaming,When bliss had lighted up the eyeOf childhood into ecstasy.

Ere yet the sparkling fount of life, 'Mong earthly streams has vanished,On the dark waves of sin and strife, Its first fresh brightness banished,While yet its calm and holy tide,By innocence is sanctified.

Oh! who can chide a mother's love? Is not her heartfelt pleasureAllied to purity above, While she beholds the treasureThat hangs in beauty at her breast,And deems it of all gifts—the best?

To see the ever-shifting shades Of light and beauty dancingAcross the face, where as one fades Another smile is glancing,Unutterable joy impartsDown to the depths of mothers' hearts.

The first dim dawn of mental day, When, scarcely comprehended,Truth's clear and pure, yet wavering ray, Seems half with error blended,While dreams of dubious wonder rollTheir shadows o'er the infant sold!

These, these fond thoughts of future joys In mothers' hearts awaken,By hours of care and bitter sighs, And troubling fears unshaken;Alas! that many a bitter pangShould on such lovely prospects hang!

But years are flown; and where is now The look of infant gladness?The beauty of the childish brow Is dashed with lines of sadness;And, worse than all, dark dreadful sinSinks like a pestilence within.

There is one change, and only one— Childhood! thy peace redeeming;The second birth! when joy unknown Through the free spirit streamingTells of redemption, pardon, love,Untold on earth—but sealed above.