Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 33 1833.pdf/9

 The shadows of its new-born awe, Sweeping o'er that fair face; As o'er a flower might pass the shade By some dread angel's pinion made!

The soul, the Mother of deep fears, Of high hopes infinite, Of glorious dreams, mysterious tears, Of sleepless inner sight; Lovely, but solemn, it arose, Unfolding what no more might close.

The red-leaved tablets,* undefiled, As yet, by evil thought— Oh! little dream'd the brooding child, Of what within me wrought, While his young heart first burn'd and stirr'd, And quiver'd to the Eternal Word.

And reverently my spirit caught The reverence of his gaze; A sight with dew of blessing fraught To hallow after-days; To make the proud heart meekly wise, By the sweet faith in those calm eyes.

It seem'd as if a temple rose Before me brightly there, And in the depths of its repose My soul o'erflow'd with prayer, Feeling a solemn presence nigh— The power of Infant Sanctity!

O Father! mould my heart once more, By thy prevailing breath! Teach me, oh! teach me to adore Ev'n with that pure One's faith; A faith, all made of love and light, Child-like, and, therefore, full of might!