Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/243

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sweet it is to see the babe Kneel by its mother's side. And lisp its brief and holy prayer, At hush of eventide,—

And sweet to mark the blooming youth 'Neath morning's purple ray, Breathe incense of the heart to Him, Who ruleth night and day,—

How doth the bosom's secret pulse With strong emotion swell, And tender pitying thoughts awake, Which language may not tell,—

When yon mute train who meekly bow Beneath affliction's rod, Whose lip no utterance hath for man, Pour forth the soul to God.