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THE TROUBLED DREAM.
Y baby boy! in tears thou didst awake,Starting with terror from thy slumber light,
And clinging to me in thy wild affright,
Will scarcely yet be soothed or comfort take.
Oh! strange it is that dreams have power to shake
With agony like this a sinless child,
And of this world a troubled foretaste make,
Where never yet its shadow hath defiled!
We know that life unseen and unperceived
Is ever round us; spirits bright and pure,
And fallen dark ones. Can some such have grieved
The spotless heart he cannot yet allure?
Hush! hush thee, dearest! sleep, and we will pray
Good angels may be ever round thee night and day.
E.
March 20, 1844.
