THE SECOND BIRTH-DAY.
Thou dost not dream, my little one,
How great the change must be,
These two years, since the morning sun
First shed his beams on thee;
Thy little hands did helpless fall,
As with a stranger's fear,
And a faint, wailing cry, was all
That met thy mother's ear.
But now, the dictates of thy will
Thine active feet obey,
And pleased thy busy fingers still
Among thy playthings stray,
And thy full eyes delighted rove
The pictured page along,
And, lisping to the heart of love,
Thy thousand wishes throng.
Fair boy! the wanderings of thy way,
It is not mine to trace,
Through buoyant youth's exulting day,
Or manhood's bolder race,
What discipline thy heart may need,
What clouds may veil thy sun,
The Eye of God, alone can read,
And let his will be done.
Yet might a mother's prayer of love
Thy destiny control,
