Poems (Toke)/To my boy

by Emma Toke

TO MY BOY.

NCE more, once more, the dying year
 Trembles beside the gulph of time;
And yet how few the days appear
 Since first we hailed her hour of prime!
It scarcely seems one month ago
 That we beheld her morn arise,
And thought upon the joy or woe
 Might light or dim her future skies.

And now that solemn hour draws nigh,
 When every heart must pause again,
And ponder o'er the days gone by,
 The awful future's shortening span:
Shadows around the past may close,
 But lights are there both bright and clear,
Such as on this glad day arose,
 To gild and cheer our pathway here.

My boy, one year has passed away
 Since thy sweet eyes awoke on earth,
And first on this auspicious day,
 With thankful joy we hailed thy birth.
That year to thee, one dream of love,
 Has passed without a care or sin;
O that thy future lot might prove
 As calm without, as pure within!

Blessings upon that merry heart,
 That joyous laugh and clear blue eye
Death's awful shade, and sorrow's smart,
 Without a stain have passed thee by:
And still I trust, for many a year,
 No grief may dim that sunny brow,
Save such as childhood's ready tear
 And mingling smile betokens now.

Thy father's pride, thy mother's joy,
 Hope of an ancient race art thou;
And on thy head, my firstborn boy,
 Full many a blessing centres now.
Oh! may thy morn of life repay
 An hundredfold our anxious cares,
And manhood's ever brightening day
 Prove thee the child of many prayers.

But thou, sweet innocent, must brave
 At last the strife of man's career,
And stem perchance life's stormy wave,
 Afar from all who hold thee dear.
Alas! too soon the world may lure
 From wisdom's way thy guileless heart,
And dim that spirit bright and pure,
 Till hope grows cold and joys depart.

But shouldst thou sadly turn again
 To hours when life was fresh and new,
Oh! may thy mother's blessing then
 Fall on thy heart like evening dew,
And o'er thy softened soul once more
 Thy father's holy precepts come,
To win thee back from earthly war,
 And melt thee with the thought of home.

Oh! ever be as now thou art,
 The beautiful, the undefiled;
With guileless mind and trustful heart,
 In purity at least a child.
And on thy heart as on thy brow,
 Still may thy father's image rest,
To tread like him thy path below,
 And live by all around thee blessed.

What blessing shall I crave for thee,
 Thou child of fondest hope and love?—
That God may still thy portion be,
 Thy strength on earth, thy hope above.
And oh! for thee, if grief and joy
 Alike be touched with heavenly fire,
Thy mother's heart, my firstborn boy,
 No more can ask, no more desire.

E.

December 50, 1810.