Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/228

216

What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine, Cling reverently!—of anxious looks beguiled My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine, Each day were bent;—her accents, gravely mild Breathed out thy lore: whilst I, a dreamy child Wandered on breeze-like fancies oft away, To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild, Some fresh discover'd nook for woodland play, Some secret nest:—yet would the solemn Word At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard, Fall on my waken'd spirit, there to be A seed not lost;—for which, in darker years, O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears, Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee!