48
Ay, shed fond tears!—God's holiest gift
Is in that feeble infant given;
Thine eyes in smiling love uplift,
And crave for him the care of Heaven.
Dreams of his honor, virtue, truth,
In loveliest vision round thee play;
See that they crown his opening youth,
Yes! guide him on his onward way.
Is in that feeble infant given;
Thine eyes in smiling love uplift,
And crave for him the care of Heaven.
Dreams of his honor, virtue, truth,
In loveliest vision round thee play;
See that they crown his opening youth,
Yes! guide him on his onward way.
Brief years have past—another hell
Now summons forth that infant heir,
And to some hearts might only tell
Of horns of toil and painful care—
But to his ardent ear it speaks
Of honoured labours, prizes high;
The glow is on his childish cheeks
Of a victorious industry.
Now summons forth that infant heir,
And to some hearts might only tell
Of horns of toil and painful care—
But to his ardent ear it speaks
Of honoured labours, prizes high;
The glow is on his childish cheeks
Of a victorious industry.
He will fulfil a mother's dream,
Her eye in pride and love shall rest
On him, whose every childish scheme
Is breathed to her confiding breast.
She shall behold him noble, high,
Rejoice his virtuous fame to hear;
That bell, now ringing through the sky,
Still sweetly shall salute her ear.
Her eye in pride and love shall rest
On him, whose every childish scheme
Is breathed to her confiding breast.
She shall behold him noble, high,
Rejoice his virtuous fame to hear;
That bell, now ringing through the sky,
Still sweetly shall salute her ear.
