XXXIII.
There sits his gentle Wife, who with him knelt
Long years ago at God's pure altar-place;
Still beautiful,—though all that she hath felt
Hath calmed the glory of her radiant face,
And given her brow a holier, softer grace.
Mother of Souls Immortal, she doth feel
A glow from Heaven her earthly love replace;
Prayer to her lip more often now doth steal,
And meditative hope her serious eyes reveal.
XXXIV.
Fondly familiar is the look she gives
As he returns, who forth so lately went,—
For they together pass their happy lives;
And many a tranquil evening have they spent
Since, blushing, ignorantly innocent,
She vowed, with downcast eyes and changeful hue,
To love Him only. Love fulfilled, hath lent
Its deep repose; and when he meets her view
Her soft look only says,—"I trust—and I am true."
XXXV.
Scattered like flowers, the rosy children play—
Or round her chair a busy crowd they press;
But, at the Father's coming, start away,
With playful struggle for his loved caress,
And jealous of the one he first may bless.
To each, a welcoming word is fondly said;
He bends and kisses some; lifts up the less;
Admires the little cheek, so round and red,
Or smooths with tender hand the curled and shining head.
