Poems (Toke)/Lines (My firstborn! strange and sweet it seems)
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
For works with similar titles, see Lines.
LINES.
Y Firstborn! strange and sweet it seems,
To gaze upon thy placid brow,
And think the form, oft seen in dreams,
Within my arms is cradled now;
To feel thou art indeed mine own,
And clasp thee closer to my heart,
With love that seems before unknown,
But now can never more depart.
To gaze upon thy placid brow,
And think the form, oft seen in dreams,
Within my arms is cradled now;
To feel thou art indeed mine own,
And clasp thee closer to my heart,
With love that seems before unknown,
But now can never more depart.
My Firstborn! tears alone could speak
The joy that rushed through every vein,
When first I pressed thy downy cheek,
With lips too weak to bless thee then,
And felt a mother's untold love
My inmost heart with rapture thrill,—
A love no earthly power can move,
No time can change, no sorrow chill.
The joy that rushed through every vein,
When first I pressed thy downy cheek,
With lips too weak to bless thee then,
And felt a mother's untold love
My inmost heart with rapture thrill,—
A love no earthly power can move,
No time can change, no sorrow chill.
My Firstborn! on that infant face,
Which seems to me so passing fair,
I love to gaze, and fondly trace
Thy father's softened features there.
Thou hast the same high, noble brow,
The same blue eye and auburn hair,
The same sweet smile,—and oh! mayest thou
In heart as well his likeness bear.
Which seems to me so passing fair,
I love to gaze, and fondly trace
Thy father's softened features there.
Thou hast the same high, noble brow,
The same blue eye and auburn hair,
The same sweet smile,—and oh! mayest thou
In heart as well his likeness bear.
My Firstborn! I could almost weep,
To watch thy peaceful slumber now,
And think how soon the world may steep
With grief and pain that calm, fair brow.
Oh! chequered must thy pathway be;
For woman's lot, my child, is thine;
And all life's brightest joys, to thee,
With mingling tears at least must shine.
To watch thy peaceful slumber now,
And think how soon the world may steep
With grief and pain that calm, fair brow.
Oh! chequered must thy pathway be;
For woman's lot, my child, is thine;
And all life's brightest joys, to thee,
With mingling tears at least must shine.
My Firstborn! 'tis thy mother's part
To watch thy being's opening day,—
To train aright thy guileless heart,
And ceaselessly for thee to pray.
And oh! may He who gave thee breath
Be still thy guide, thy strength, thy shield,
And make thee His in life and death,
My opening Flower! my Firstborn Child!
To watch thy being's opening day,—
To train aright thy guileless heart,
And ceaselessly for thee to pray.
And oh! may He who gave thee breath
Be still thy guide, thy strength, thy shield,
And make thee His in life and death,
My opening Flower! my Firstborn Child!
E.
July 31, 1838.