Dream, baby, dream! Thine eyelids quiver. It saith, "Be calm, be sure, Like mine, for ever!" TO MY CHILD. RICHARD CHENEVIX FRENCH. THY gladness makes me thankful every way; Of our own hearts, and what has harboured there. L BABY'S SONG. H. M. R. Low-murmured words, I hear, mother! Which mingle in my dreams, mother! Soft kisses too I feel, mother! The little angels round me, My soul with them would keep, But my heart is linked with thine, mother! And I waken from my sleep. I wake-and bending o'er me Thine eyes look into mine— The whispering voice, the loving kiss, WELSH WANDERER'S SONG To her Baby, cradled in the Boughs of a Tree. SLEEP, my child! and take thy rest, God will guard thee with his care; With looks of love. Sleep, my child! and take thy rest, Though the sun with scorching heat Then sleep, my child: O take thy rest, Monthly Repository. MICHA E L. WORDSWORTH. [EXTRACT.] BUT to Michael's heart This son of his old age was yet more dear— Less from instinctive tenderness,—the same Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all— Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, By tendency of nature needs must fail. TO THE NEW-BORN. MRS. HEMANS. A BLESSING on thy head, thou child of many hopes and fears! A rainbow-welcome thine hath been, of mingled smiles and tears. Thy father greets thee unto life, with a full and chastened heart, For a solemn gift from God thou com'st, all precious as thou art! I see thee not asleep, fair boy, upon thy mother's breast, Yet well I know how guarded there shall be thy rosy rest; And how her soul with love and prayer and gladness will o'erflow, While bending o'er thy soft-sealed eyes, thou dear one, well I know! A blessing on thy gentle head! and blessed thou art in truth, For a home where God is felt awaits thy childhood and thy youth: |