Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/100

Rh Hangs pure and cold its twinkling cresset forth, And throwing off his skates with boisterous glee, Hastes to his mother's side. Her tender hand Doth shake the snow-flakes from his glossy curls, And draw him nearer, and with gentle voice Ask of his lessons, while her lifted heart Solicits silently the Sire of Heaven To "bless the lad." The timid infant learns Better to love its sire—and longer sits Upon his knee, and with a velvet lip Prints on his brow such language, as the tongue Hath never spoken. Come thou to life's feast With dove-eyed meekness, and bland charity, And thou shalt find even Winter's rugged blasts The minstrel teacher of thy well tuned-soul, And when the last drop of its cup is drained— Arising with a song of praise—go up To the eternal banquet.