TO A CHILD. BARRY CORNWALL. FAIREST of earth's creatures! All thy innocent features Moulded in beauty do become thee well. Oh! may thy future years Be free from pains and fears, False love and others' envy, and the guile That lurks beneath a friend-like smile, And all the various ills that dwell In this so strange-compounded world; and may Thy looks be like the skies of May, Supremely soft and clear, With now and then a tear For others' sorrows, not thy own. And may thy sweet voice, Like a stream afar, Flow in perpetual music, and its tone B Shine sweet, and cheer the hearts that love thee, Deep woods, and running brooks, and the rich sights At noontide, or on inter-lunar nights, Bends her cerulean bow, and seems to rest Surpassing all the shapes that lie ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. · J. CUNNINGHAM. YES, thou art fled, and saints a welcome sing; THE CHILDREN WHOM JESUS BLEST. MRS. HEMANS. HAPPY were they, the mothers, in whose sight Hung on your brows and eyelids, meekly bright, The conscious glory of the Saviour's love! And honoured be all childhood, for the sake Of that high love! Let reverential care Watch to behold the immortal spirit wake, And shield its first bloom from unholy air; Owning in each young suppliant glance the sign Of claims upon a heritage divine. TO A SLEEPING CHILD. PROFESSOR WILSON. ART thou a thing of mortal birth, Or art thou, what thy form would seem, A human shape I feel thou art, Though dear the forms by fancy wove, |