THE CHILD READING THE BIBLE.
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The soul, the awakening soul I saw,
My watching eye could trace
The shadows of its new-born awe,
Sweeping o'er that fair face:
As o'er a flower might pass the shade
By some dread angel's pinion made!
The soul, the mother of deep fears,
Of high hopes infinite,
Of glorious dreams, mysterious tears,
Of sleepless inner sight;
Lovely, but solemn, it arose,
Unfolding what no more might close.
The red-leaved tablets,[1] undefiled,
As yet, by evil thought—
Oh! little dream'd the brooding child,
Of what within me wrought,
- ↑ "All this, and more than this, is now engraved upon the red-leaved tablets of my heart."—Haywood.
