Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/207

 To watch the plants of reason as they rise; Hang o'er your clusters, like the bending vine, And teach the infant tendril where to twine; Guard from the mildew's taint, the frost severe, Repel the noxious weed that ventures near; Lead the young leaves to lift their drooping heads, And drink the purest dew, that evening sheds; Curb the aspiring shoots that mount too high, Lest in the blast the forward hope should die; To turn the clear stream to the spreading root, Catch the first promise of a grateful fruit; Bind the young buds, whose stalks the winds have riven, And prune the boughs, and point their way to heaven.

But who can paint the thrill of extacy, With which a mother meets her babes on high? Perchance the tempest's rage, with furious strife, Had driven them darkly o'er the sea of life; Perchance the shafts of death, that ceaseless rove, Had early pierc'd the brittle band of love; Perchance the wide-stretch'd zone, or Ocean waves, Had roll'd between their long-divided graves; Now safely scap'd from earth's delusive shore, Now join'd in glory to divide no more, What mortal hand can touch that raptur'd string, Whose high-rais'd tones salute th' Eternal King?