baby's christening.
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Baby's Christening.
Baby is robed in her long white gown,
Which grandmamma brought from town;
And under her chin mamma has tied—
With fingers that flutter with loving pride—
The satin strings of the bonnet small,
And wrapped her warm in a fleecy shawl;
For baby, the darling, is but a month old,
And takes her first journey to-day in the cold.
Which grandmamma brought from town;
And under her chin mamma has tied—
With fingers that flutter with loving pride—
The satin strings of the bonnet small,
And wrapped her warm in a fleecy shawl;
For baby, the darling, is but a month old,
And takes her first journey to-day in the cold.
The rain streams down, and cold winds blow,
As off to church in a coach we go
With our precious burden, so frail, yet dear,
To render grateful thanks for her,
And the fond young mother, whose eyes are aglow
With the light of maternal joy, I know.
Then at the baptismal font we bow,
And baby receives the "sign" on her brow.
As off to church in a coach we go
With our precious burden, so frail, yet dear,
To render grateful thanks for her,
And the fond young mother, whose eyes are aglow
With the light of maternal joy, I know.
Then at the baptismal font we bow,
And baby receives the "sign" on her brow.
Grandmamma's eyes have misty grown,
As her fond glance travels from babe to son,—
The proud young father whose anxious gaze
Turns so oft to the infant's face—
Perchance she thinks of life's morning-tide,
When she and grandpa stood side by side
At the sacred font, to give a name
To the first sweet pledge of love that came.
As her fond glance travels from babe to son,—
The proud young father whose anxious gaze
Turns so oft to the infant's face—
Perchance she thinks of life's morning-tide,
When she and grandpa stood side by side
At the sacred font, to give a name
To the first sweet pledge of love that came.
