SELF-COMMUNION.
15
“I see, far back, a helpless child,
Feeble and full of causeless fears,
Simple and easily beguiled
To credit all it hears.
More timid than the wild wood-dove,
Yet trusting to another’s care,
And finding in protecting love
Its only refuge from despair,—
Its only balm for every woe,
The only bliss its soul can know;—
Still hiding in its breast.
A tender heart too prone to weep,
A love so earnest, strong, and deep
It could not be exprest.
Feeble and full of causeless fears,
Simple and easily beguiled
To credit all it hears.
More timid than the wild wood-dove,
Yet trusting to another’s care,
And finding in protecting love
Its only refuge from despair,—
Its only balm for every woe,
The only bliss its soul can know;—
Still hiding in its breast.
A tender heart too prone to weep,
A love so earnest, strong, and deep
It could not be exprest.
