Can fashion so the infant heart
As those creative beams that dart,
With all their hopes and fears, upon
The cradle of a sleeping son.

His startled eyes with wonder see
A father near him on his knee,
Who wishes all the while to trace
The mother in his future face;
But 't is to her alone uprise

His waking arms; to her those eyes

Open with joy and not surprise.

Walter Savage Landor

MY LITTLE DEAR

My little dear, so fast asleep,
Whose arms about me cling,
What kisses shall she have to keep,

While she is slumbering?

Upon her golden baby-hair,

The golden dreams I'll kiss

Which Life spread through my morning fair,

And I have saved, for this.

Upon her baby eyes I'll press

The kiss Love gave to me, When his great joy and loveliness Made all things fair to see.

And on her lips, with smiles astir,
Ah me, what prayer of old
May now be kissed to comfort her,
Should Love or Life grow cold.

Dollie Radford

THE IMMORTALITY OF LOVE

THEY sin who tell us love can die:
With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity;

In heaven ambition cannot dwell,
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell;
Earthly these passions of the earth,
They perish where they have their
birth;

But love is indestructible;

Its holy flame for ever burneth,

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.

Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at times op-
press'd,

It here is tried and purified,
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest:
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest-time of love is there.
Oh! when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,

Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, all her tears,

An over-payment of delight?

Robert Southey

"THAT THEY ALL MAY BE ONE”

WHENE'ER there comes a little child,
My darling comes with him;
Whene'er I hear a birdie wild
Who sings his merry whim,
Mine sings with him:

If a low strain of music sails
Among melodious hills and dales,
When a white lamb or kitten leaps,
Or star, or vernal flower peeps,
When rainbow dews are pulsing joy,
Or sunny waves, or leaflets toy,
Then he who sleeps

Softly wakes within my heart;
With a kiss from him I start;
He lays his head upon my breast,
Tho' I may not see my guest,
Dear bosom-guest!

In all that 's pure and fair and good,
I feel the spring-time of thy blood,
Hear thy whisper'd accents flow
To lighten woe,

Feel them blend,

Although I fail to comprehend.

And if one woundeth with harsh word,
Or deed, a child, or beast, or bird,
It seems to strike weak Innocence
Through him, who hath for his defence
Thunder of the All-loving Sire,

And mine, to whom He gave the fire.

Roden Noel