194
SONNET.
HE holiest name to woman's lot can fallIs thine, my Mary, last and fairest child,—
The name of her, that "Virgin Mother mild,"
Whom every age and tongue must blessed call;
And her's, who meekly chose that better part,
Earth could not give, and could not take away;
Who sat at Jesu's feet with lowly heart,
And willing ear, that listened to obey.
Oh, precious one! on this thy natal day,
What better prayer can parents breathe for thee,
Than that through life thy brightest, best array,
A meek and quiet spirit still may be;
A heart, which high and holy faith may bless,
And glad obedience guide—earth's truest happiness?
E.
February 28, 1837.
