Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/Childhood's Prayer

by Eliza Gabriella Lewis

CHILDHOOD'S PRAYER.

It is a pure and holy thing,
 Young childhood's simple prayer,
So little of man's worldliness,
 So much of Heaven seems there.
Their eyes upraised and small hands clasped,
 While dwell their lips upon
Their Savior's words, (when agonized)
 "Father, thy will be done."

Ah! mother, gaze upon thy child,
 Thou know'st he now is pure;
How much of misery—of crime—
 May that young heart endure!

The first of his brief life hath gone,—
 As a sweet dream it pass'd;
Oh! think not in thy hopefulness
 Such blessed days will last;
For Sorrow meets man in his course,
 Blighting each promised joy;
And moody, in his noon-tide hour,
 Becomes the buoyant boy.

Or Pleasure, with her winning smile,
 Points to her fragrant bowers,—
Deeply of Circe's cup he drinks,
 And strews the brim with flowers.
The poison works!—ah! mother! see
 Thy young, thy cherished son,
Pale—drooping—dying! Life hath past,
 And pleasure's course is run.

Must it be thus? No; let us hope
 Those youthful prayers may rise—
Thus humbly blended with thine own—
 "Sweet incense to the skies"
That God may send his blessing down
 Upon the trusting one,
And guard from sorrow and from guilt
 Thy pure and only son.