COME, gather closer to my side, My little smitten flock, And I will tell of him who brought Pure water from the rock -- Who boldly led God's people forth From Egypt's wrath and guile, And once a cradled babe did float, All helpless on the Nile. You're weary, precious ones, your eyes Are wandering far and wide -- Think ye of her who knew so well Your tender thought to guide? Who could to Wisdom's sacred lore Your fixed attention claim? Ah! never from your hearts erase That blessed Mother's name. 'Tis time to sing your evening hymn, My youngest infant dove, Come press your velvet cheek to mine, And learn the lay of love; My sheltering arms can clasp you all, My poor deserted throng, Cling as you used to cling to her Who sings the angel's song. Begin, sweet birds, the accustomed strain, Come, warble loud and clear; Alas! alas! you're weeping all, You're sobbing in my ear; Good-night -- go say the prayer she taught, Beside your little bed, The lips that used to bless you there Are silent with the dead. A father's hand your course may guide Amid the thorns of life, His care protect those shrinking plants That dread the storms of strife; But who, upon your infant hearts, Shall like that mother write? Who touch the strings that rule the soul? Dear, smitten flock, good night; | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VISION UPON [THIS CONCEIT] OF THE FAERIE QUEENE (1) by WALTER RALEIGH THE CITY MOUSE AND THE COUNTRY [OR, GARDEN] MOUSE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI LINES WITH A WEDDING PRESENT by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |