On A Sleeping Child.
Sleep, infant Pilgrim ! Over thee one bends,1
Too anxious for thy being, thee to rob2
Of one sweet dream. Surveying thee, the throb3
Of future years steals o’er me ; yet hope blends4
Her lilies with fear’s dark contrasted flowers.5
Long may the former bloom for thee, meek child,6
And oft repeated be these slumbers mild7
Which now so softly lull thy cherub hours.8
Thou, like a flow’ret of the virgin May,9
In lusty beauty puttest forth a ray,10
Which time will brighten till thy noon arrive,11
As summer to the offspring of the field.12
Storms thence against thee their wild course will drive,13
And, like the flower, thou to their strength must yield.14