Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/250

 Teaching the eye to flow, the heart to beat. The knee that never bent to bend in prayer: Kind nurse of life, how much we owe thy pow'r! To thee we owe it, that our feeble race, More helpless than the brutes, are not like them Suffer'd to perish. 'Tis thy secret hand That lifts the young mind like some sickly plant To see the light, to taste the dews of heaven, To feel the sun-beams, shielding its soft leaves From chill unkindness, that dire frost of life; Propping its stalk, and cherishing its buds; Leading the fragrant waters to its root, And taking thence the noxious weeds, that seek To drink its moisture, withering every hope.

O pure affection! waken'd with the sigh Of infancy—still wheresoe’er I go Cheer my lone spirit, and Oh, suffer not My numerous errors to abate thy glow, Warmer than friendship, and more fix'd than love.