My Infant Son.
61
Lily of the summer, though
Thou canst clothe thyself in white,
Like the summer's snowy cloud,
Spotless, beautiful and bright;
Whiter is the forehead high
Where my baby's bright curls lie.
Thou canst clothe thyself in white,
Like the summer's snowy cloud,
Spotless, beautiful and bright;
Whiter is the forehead high
Where my baby's bright curls lie.
Shell that nestles in the sand,
Rosy, pink, and fair to me,
As some gem the wind and storm
Wrested from the angry sea;
Rosier, fairer and more sweet
Are my darling's hands and feet.
Rosy, pink, and fair to me,
As some gem the wind and storm
Wrested from the angry sea;
Rosier, fairer and more sweet
Are my darling's hands and feet.
Little eyes be ever thus
Pure as summer's arching blue;
Little lips your sweetness keep,
Strong your speech be, noble, true;
Fair cheek's bloom and forehead's snow
Never shame's red mantle know.
Pure as summer's arching blue;
Little lips your sweetness keep,
Strong your speech be, noble, true;
Fair cheek's bloom and forehead's snow
Never shame's red mantle know.
Hands and feet so pink and small,—
Dear God guide them day by day!
Mother-love would keep from pain;
Smooth all roughness from the way;
Yet my heart makes one request:—
Heaven lead them to the best.
Dear God guide them day by day!
Mother-love would keep from pain;
Smooth all roughness from the way;
Yet my heart makes one request:—
Heaven lead them to the best.
