- THE laughing eyes are closed:
- The long, dark lashes—weary sentinels—
- Droop like sad willows over Eastern wells.
- Where olden saints reposed.
- The red lip wears a smile
- That tells his dreams are happy; and his hair,
- Clustering on his forehead smooth and fair,
- Is feebly stirred the while
- By the wind's careful breath,
- That seems afraid to break his quiet rest—
- And but the gentle heavings of his breast
- Declare this is not death.
- One stainless hand is laid
- Beside his cheek; the other clasps the pet
- He loves too well, though slumbering, to forget,
- With which he lately played.
- Sweet child! he little deems
- How sad a world he dwells in, and how strange;
- Nor how that world, with reckless hand, will change
- The aspect of his dreams—
- That those who love him best
- May be his enemies in after hours;
- And that hope's brightest buds and rarest flowers
- May wither in his breast.
- 'Twere well for thee, young boy,
- If thou couldst ever slumber on as now,
- With that same smile, that same unclouded brow,
- The type and proof of joy.
- I may not grieve for thee,
- But I must tremble when I count the foes
- That will exult above they griefs and woes
- In life's futurity.
- Yet up! and raise thine eye
- To the far heaven; and, in they boyhood, pray
- That He will keep from thee the "evil day"
- Whose throne is reared on high.
- So, when on Life's dark sea,
- Amid the blasts and billows, thou shalt ride,
- Thy bark shall have a pilot in the Crucified,
- And He shall succor thee.
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