Page:Home; or, The unlost paradise (IA homeorunlostpara00palm).pdf/55

To some old poet's lay, or ballad wild,
Or History's roll of deeds and men renowned.

  But, blessed Home, these are not all thy joys;
Yet undiscovered are thy purest springs,
The streams untasted yet of holiest bliss
From wedded love by God ordained to flow.
Though now, ye favored pair, your cup seem full,
A gladder hour is nigh; a brighter star
Than e'er before your watchful eyes did greet
Now rises, o'er your path to shed its ray.
Hark! a new sound arrests the quickened ear!
A voice! a cry!—the cry of infancy!
Through every room it thrills; the very walls
That echo it, with sympathy seem touched.
A babe is born! Mother—O hallowed name!
Mary, that name is thine! close to thy heart,
Quick beating with a rapture all unknown
Till this blest moment, thou dost fold and press
Thy first born son! Thine anguish all forgot,
A joy so deep, so pure, so brimming o'er,