Poems (Toke)/To Eleanor Margaret

by Emma Toke

TO ELEANOR MARGARET.

AGED 7 WEEKS.

WEET Baby! thou art slumbering Upon thy mother's knee,Unconscious still of all the love That ceaseless girdles thee.Thou know'st not yet the lips that oft Thy soft cheek fondly press,Nor all the untiring care that tends Thy feeble helplessness.

I scarce know wherefore, but it seems A solemn thing to me,To watch a sleeping infant's brow, From every passion free:To mark the dark-fringed lids that touch That cheek so pure and fair,The soft-drawn breath, the little hands, Folded as if in prayer.

Oh surely, something not of earth, The mournful beauty seemsOf that calm brow, where still undimmed Baptismal water gleams. No marvel that our world-stained hearts Should almost shrink with fear,And feel a holy thing like this, Brings Heaven itself more near.

Ah, there! how sweet the transient smile That flits o'er lip and brow!Fain would I know, my precious one! The thoughts that bless thee now.Oh, who can tell what glorious sights Such sinless eyes may see;How slight to them the veil that shrouds Eternal things may be?

'Tis said, that village matrons deem, A babe's unconscious eyesBehold, in dreams, its future path Like some dim vision rise:But lovelier far the legend seems, Of mine own native isle,That angel voices whisper near, When sleeping infants smile.

Yes; sweet the dream: perchance e'en now They fan thee with their wings,While softly on thy slumbering ear Unearthly music rings.And oh, how far more blest to know, That in Heaven's highest place,The angels of these little ones Behold their Father's face.

Oh! never may the guardian eyes Of those bright watchers, seeEarth's shadows quench the living light That now hath dawned for thee.I kiss the sign upon thy brow, Thou treasure newly given,And pray, our only thought may be To train thee up for Heaven.

E.

October 20, 1847.