Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, INFANCY, by MARION H. RAND


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

INFANCY, by                    
First Line: What! My merry little one
Last Line: Prove thine in blest reality.
Subject(s): Babies; Infants


WHAT! my merry little one,
Have I found thee all alone?
Fast asleep, and, as it seems,
In the far-off land of dreams?
Say what fancies hover round thee,
While the chains of sleep have bound thee?
Where, upon this sunny morn,
Has that gentle spirit gone?
One fair arm is lightly thrown
Round that loved and loving one,
As in peaceful sleep ye lie,
Innocence and infancy.
But what dreamest thou, my boy?
Are there thoughts of grief or joy
Swelling in that guileless heart,
Sweet emotions to impart?
Dreamest thou of future pleasures,
New-found pets, or new-found treasures?
Ah -- no thoughts like these have place
On that quiet, serious face.
I have heard that angels come,
When our baby spirits roam,
Round the slumberer's couch, to showe
Visions of a glorious power.
There are often dreams of Heaven
To the infant spirit given.
Oh -- we cannot, cannot tell
What a mighty holy spell
Round the pure, young heart is twined
When the chains of slumber bind
Merry eyes that never weep --
Lips that close not save in sleep --
Tones that ring in wild delight --
Voices only hushed at night.
Then, perhaps, thy soul, my boy,
Wandereth in those realms of joy.
Oh! couldst thou but speak, and tell
All thy gentle steps befell,
What a glorious tale would flow
From thy lips, in accents low,
But, alas -- it may not be,
With thy slumbers dreams will flee.
'T is our Heavenly Father's will,
Merciful and gracious still,
Lest thou scorn thine earthly lot,
All on waking is forgot.
'T is to infant hearts alone
Holy things like these are shown.
When a few short years are o'er,
These bright dreams return no more.
But may that sweet influence still
All thy heart and temper fill.
That All-seeing Eye will be
Ever watching over thee;
Still thy Guardian and thy Guide
Will be ever at thy side;
He will bring thee on thy way,
Through the cares of every day,
Till, when this life's trials o'er,
Thou standest on death's awful shore,
These dreams that nightly come to thee,
Prove thine in blest reality.





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