Page:Home; or, The unlost paradise (IA homeorunlostpara00palm).pdf/55

 To some old poet's lay, or ballad wild, Or History's roll of deeds and men renowned.

But, blessed Home, these are not all thy joys; Yet undiscovered are thy purest springs, The streams untasted yet of holiest bliss From wedded love by God ordained to flow. Though now, ye favored pair, your cup seem full, A gladder hour is nigh; a brighter star Than e'er before your watchful eyes did greet Now rises, o'er your path to shed its ray. Hark! a new sound arrests the quickened ear! A voice! a cry!—the cry of infancy! Through every room it thrills; the very walls That echo it, with sympathy seem touched. A babe is born! Mother—O hallowed name! Mary, that name is thine! close to thy heart, Quick beating with a rapture all unknown Till this blest moment, thou dost fold and press Thy first born son! Thine anguish all forgot, A joy so deep, so pure, so brimming o'er,