1st November, 1840.
Happy the babe that closes its young eyes
'Ere they have looked on sorrow, and defies
The hand of Time to quench the spark divine,
Created for Eternity to shine.
It shall never mourn in pain
Over earthly loss or pain;
Never face temptation's snares,
Hidden among worldly cares,
All untried, and yet forgiven,
It has reached its home in Heaven.
Happy, perchance, the bride who, in that hour
When earthly love assumes its utmost power,
When, turning from her early friends away,
She leans upon an arm that is but clay;
May pass from lower scenes to those above.
And find the secret of Eternal Love.
She shall never know the smart
Of a bruised or broken heart;
Never hear an altered tone
From the lips that press her own;
Nor see a frown upon the brow
Gently gazing 'pon her now.
Blest the young mother who but clasps her child
One moment to her breast, in accents mild
Praises the God who such a gem has given,
Then with her treasure takes her flight to Heaven.
Never shall she mourn alone
O'er a sick or dying one:
Never see his ardent youth
Wand'ring from the paths of Truth,
Or his manhood stain'd with crime,
Gifts misused or wasted time.
But, oh! thrice blessed, who on life's dull stage,
Through childhood, wedlock, womanhood and age,
Has meekly trod the path by Heaven designed,
Meekly received the good by Heaven assigned,
Train'd up her offspring in the ways of truth,
Their prop in infancy, their guide in youth:
They shall rise and call her blest,
Crown her in her day of rest;
And with cheerful songs of mirth
Consecrate her day of birth;
Loving notes from far away
Greet her on her festal day.
Mother! can I ever be
To mine what thou hast been to me?
Feebly, slowly, must I tread
In the path where thou hast led;
Yet, on this returning day,
Humbly hoping, let me pray,
That, where'er my course be run,
I may do as thou hast done,
And long a living source may be
Of comfort and of joy to thee.
Triumph yet o'er grief and pain,
Thou hast not lived in vain!
Let not worldly cares distress thee,
Hear'st thou not thy children bless thee?
From various parts their voices rise,
They shall mingle in the skies.
Long may this festal morning shed
Its yearly honours on thy head;
Long may its sacred dawning prove
An anniversary of Love;
Long may thy gentle presence bless
A household filled with thankfulness;
While round thy couch thy children's children play,
And weave fresh garlands for thy natal day!