The Exile’s Wife to Her Sleeping ChildEllen PriceWoodWood, EllenIllustratorThomas FalconMarshallMarshall, Thomas Falcon
Metadata research and editing
DVPP Project TeamSarahKarlsonUniversity of Victoria Digital Victorian Periodical Poetry ProjectVictoria, BC, Canada
In the public domain
The Keepsake185097–98My child, arise ! Alas, how calm the sleeptext-transform: uppercase; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 2em; letter-spacing:
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The Exile’s Wife to Her Sleeping Child.by Ellen Wood.My child, arise ! Alas, how calm the sleepFrom which I must arouse thee ! and how deepThy slumber ! Wake, my own, my precious child !Light of my lonely heart ! thou hast beguiledMe of my grief in many a sad, sad hour,And chased back half my cares ! My household flower !My bud of promise, yet but newly blown !My darling child ! my beautiful ! my own !And still thou sleepest ! Still those soft eyes closeIn infancy’s soft rest and calm repose.They say that angels whisper words of loveTo infant dreamers ; is it thus, my dove ?Do visions greet thee of that glorious bandWho round the throne of God rejoicing stand ?And now a smile lights up thy placid brow,What are thy visions, infant ? what are nowThy thoughts, my gentle child ? Oh, pure and bright,They are of heaven, and fill thy soul with light !But must there come for thee a future day,When all thy present peace shall pass away,When the cold world shall point its venomed dart,And tales unfold which from thy loving heartWill chase the calm, sweet joy, that now has shedA halo, darling, round thy bright young head ?Oh, heavenly Father ! Thou who oft hast smiledUpon the friendless, shield,—oh shield my child !Conduct her where her infancy has flown,And lead her safe to Thee,—my beautiful ! my own
!