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Page 239
TO AN INFANT.
Thou wak'st from happy sleep, to play,
With bounding heart, my boy!
Before thee lies a long, bright day
Of summer and of joy!
Thou hast no heavy thought or dream,
To cloud thy fearless eye;—
Long be it thus!—life's early stream
Should still reflect the sky!
Yet,—ere the cares of earth lie dim,
On thy young spirit's wings,—
Now, in thy morn, forget not Him
From whom each pure thought springs!
So,—in thy onward vale of tears,
Where'er thy path may be,
When strength hath bowed to evil years,—
He will remember thee!
F. H.
