Poems (Hale)/The Baptism

by Mary Whitwell Hale

THE BAPTISM.

She stands before her Maker's throne, with spirit fixed above,
Where springs Faith's living fount, to lead that holy gift of love;
With fervent prayer and tuneful strain proceeds the simple rite,
That, to his Master's gathering band, her infant shall unite.

What gushing prayers to Heaven ascend from that fond mother's heart,
That his young soul from holiness and truth may ne'er depart;
But, all unstained as early dew,to God and truth be given,
A spotless sacrifice to glow upon the shrine of heaven.

Yes, as the sacred waters fall upon his fearless head,
What thrilling thoughts, what holy hopes, o'er his young heart are shed!
A mother's love! exhaustless spring, whence, all unsullied flow
The holiest streams of sympathy that e'er can gush below.

A mother's heart! change cannot dim, nor absence quench the flame
That glows upon its hidden shrine, in joy or grief the same:
On earth, its full, deep meed of bliss ne'er to the soul is given;
It asks a holier home than earth,—the paradise of heaven.
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Thou blessed one! o'er whose fair brow the mystic waters fell,
What yearning prayers for thee and thine, deep in my bosom swell:
I feel the impotence of words one kind thought to ex- press,
Of all that swell within my heart thy opening life to bless.

O! may the morning's fragrance rise, thy grateful meed to pay,
And may'st thou consecrate to God the noon's meridian ray;
And when the dews of evening call to slumber and to rest,
O! may'st thou fearless seek thy couch as a fond mother's breast.

Thou, to whose race the Sinless One the priceless boon did give,
To be the emblem meet of those whose souls in glory live,
May Heaven's best blessing rest upon thy young and happy head,
And strew with flowers of heaven's own hue, the future thou must tread.