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Or of the end stops short, proposed to all
At its aspiring outset. Mark the Babe
Not long accustomed to this breathing world;
One that hath barely learned to shape a smile,
Though yet irrational of Soul to grasp
With tiny fingers, to let fall a tear,
And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves,
To stretch his limbs, bemocking, as might seem,
The outward functions of intelligent Man;
A grave Proficient in amusive feats
Of puppetry, that from the lap declare
His expectations, and announce his claims
To that inheritance which millions rue
That they were ever born to! In due time
A day of solemn ceremonial comes;
When they, who for this Minor hold in trust
Rights that transcend the unblest heritage
Of mere Humanity, present their Charge,
For this occasion daintily adorned,
At the baptismal Font. And when the pure
And consecrating element hath cleansed
The original stain, the Child is there received
Into the second Ark, Christ's Church, with trust
