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POEMS OF CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH, .
PHILIP, MY KING.
"Who bears upon hts baby brow the round
What is the little one thinking about ?
Very wonderful things, no doubt ;
ds if his head were as full of kiuks Lay ou my neck thy tiny hand
And curious riddles as any splinx! With Love's invisible sceptrc laden ;
Warped by colie, and wet by tea:4, I am thine Esther, to command
Pumetureil by pins, and tortured by lears, Till thou shalt find a qucen-handmaiden, Our little nephew will lose two years; Philip, my king!
And he'll never know
Wlcre the summers go ;
Philip, my king!
Who can tell what a baby thinks ?
Who can follow the gossamer links Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there By which the manikiu feels his way
Sittest love-glorified ! – Rule kindly, Out from the shore of the great unknown, Tenderly over thy kingilom fair ;
Blimil, and wailing, and alone,
Into the light of day?
Out from the shore of the unknown sca,
Tossing in pitiful agony ;
Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls,
Specked with the barks of little souls,
Barks that were launched on the other side, May rise like a giant, and make men bow And slipped from heaven on an cbbing tido ! As to one Heaven-chosen ainong his peers.
What does he think of his mother's eyes ? My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer, What does he think of his mother's hair ? Let me behold thee in future years !
What of the craulle-roof, that lies
What does he think of his mother's breast,
Bure and beautiful, smooth and white,
Seeking it ever with fresh delight,
Cup of his life, and couch of his rest?
What does lie think when her quick embrace Thoruy, and cruel, and cold, and gray;
Presses liis hand and buries his face Rebels within thee and foes without
Deep where the leart-throbs sink and swek, Will snatch at thy crown.
But march on,
With a tenderness she can never tell, glorious,
Though she murmur the words Martyr, yet monarch ! till angels shout,
Of all the birds, As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious,
Words she has learned to murmur well? “Philip, the king !'
Now he thinks he'll go to sleep!
I can see the shaduw creep
Over his eyes in soft eclipse,
JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND.
CHOOSING A NAME. I HAVE got a new-born sister; I was nigh the first that kissed her. When the nursing-woman brought her To papa, his infant daughter, How papa's dear eyes did glisten ! She will shortly be to christen ; And papa has made the offer, I shall have the naming of hier. Now I wonder what would please her, Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa ? Ann and Mary, they 're too common ; Joan 's too formal for a woman ; Jane 's a prettier name beside ; But we had a Jane that died. They would say, if 't was Rebecca, That she was a little Quaker. Edith 's pretty, but that looks Better in old English books ; Ellen 's left off long ago ; Blanche is out of fashion now. None that I have named as yet Are so good as Margaret. Emily is neat and fine; What do you think of Caroline ? How I 'm puzzled and perplexed What to choose or think of next! I am in a little lever Lest the name that I should give her Should disgrace hier or defame hier ; I will leave papa to name her.
Catchings up of legs and armis ;
WILLIAM Cox BENNETT
A CRADLE HYMN.
ABBREVIATED FROM THE ORIGINAL.
Cheeks as soft as July peaches ;
Hush ! my dear, lie still, and slumber
Holy angels guard thy bed ! Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe ; thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide ; All without thy care or payment,
All thy wants are well supulicu. How much better thou 'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven he descended,
And became a child like thee.
Soft and easy is thy cradle :
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay: When his birthplace was a stable,
Aud his softest bed was hay.