254 SELECT POETRY

Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
Birds that o’ersweep it in power and mirth;
Yet through the wastes of the trackless air
Ye have a guide, and shall we despair ?
Ye over desert and deep have passed,
So may we reach our bright home at last.
Mrs, Hemans.

 

THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD.

As to her lips the mother lifts her boy,

What answering looks of sympathy and joy !—
He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word,
His wants, his wishes, and his griefs, are heard ;
And ever, ever to her lap he flies,

When rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise.
Locked in her arms, his arms across her flung,
(That name most dear for ever on his tongue,)
As with soft accents round her neck he clings,
And, cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings,
How blest to feel the beatings of his heart,
Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart;
Watch o’er his slumbers like the brooding dove,
And, if she can, exhaust a mother’s love !

But soon a nobler task demands her care ;

Apart she joins his little hands in prayer,
Telling of Him who sees in secret there !—

And now the volume on her knee has caught
His wandering eye—now many a written thought
Never to die, with many a lisping sweet,

His moving, murmuring lips endeavour to repeat.