THE NEW WORLD. January 28, 1843. || THE ROVER. Vol.2. 1844. || +1
CHILDREN.
BY PARK BENJAMIN.
UNTO me there are no blessings,
Which high Heaven, indulgent, lends,
Dearer than the sweet caressings
Of my little friends.
When they flock, like birds, about me—
Birds in rainbow plumage clad—
Their bright looks and trilling voices
Make my spirit glad.
Pure, confiding, free from sorrow,
Free from even a shade of sin,
They, like lilies in their glory,
Neither toil nor spin.
Wicked tongues have not assailed them,
Or the serpent, slander, stung,
Or the poisonous ivy clambered
Their green leaves among.
Parasites, and false companions,
Have not stolen their guileless trust,
And their tenderest flowers of feeling
Trampled in the dust.
Dark suspicion, envy, malice—
Fiends to man and foes to God—
Never scathed the blooming gardens
By their footsteps trod.
Mother-love has folded round them
Arms more soft than angels' wings,
And with sweeter accents lulled them
Than an angel sings.
Father-love, defending, keeping,
Leading, strengthening, cheering, throws
Its broad shield above them, waking
Or in deep repose.
Gentle darlings, spotless creatures,
How, through many a live-long day,
Have I, neither vexed nor weary,
Joined your merry play!
I, a lonely man, am friendless
Never where young children be;
Though my love for them be endless,
Large is theirs for me.
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