11th August, 1828.
THE evening sun had o'er the heavens rolled
His brilliant robe of glory and of gold;
The angels round the throne had just begun
Their vesper hymn of praise—the sweetest one;
The stars were trimming then their lamps of light,
Like watchers, ready for the coming night;
The earth rejoiced through all her numerous fields,
Blest with the crop that generous autumn yields:
The meadow streams subduing music stole,
Like dreams of rapture, to the fainting soul,—
When thou sprung into being, like the ray
Of early morn, the gleam of dawning day.
Stranger! so bright, so innocent, so fair,
We give thee welcome to our world of care;
Come to partake our sorrow—thou hast known
The pang already, by that stifled moan—
When rosy pleasure shall her smiles renew,
Come with thy kindred heart, and share them too.
We bless thee, babe! for we have need to bless
A fellow-pilgrim in a world like this,
Where mirth is mockery, and joy a dream,
And we are never happy—though we seem.
Oh! may'st thou never know the ills that we
Have known, and shall know, ere we cease to be:
Be thou thy mother's comfort! thou wert blest
Wert thou, like her, the purest and the best.