To My First Born

To My First Born

Sweet slumbering babe! that breath'st so soft and low,

Encircled in thy mother's shielding arm;

Thy life's mild current, just begun to flow,

Is not more strangely new, or purely warm,

Than those parental sympathies, now stirred

In nature's fountain, to its very depth;

Or then, perhaps, for the first time, conferred,

When on my ear thy tiny accents crept,

And kindled rapture in the tears I wept.

Unconscious stranger, in a world of tears,

How little dost thou dream of what thou art!

The griefs and trials of maturer years

Create no throbbing at thy gentler heart:

Thou image of an undisturbed repose,

Free from pride's hateful toil, and passion's strife;

No cares on thee their heavy weight impose; -

Thou has not yet experienced of this life,

Alike a stranger to its joys and woes.
Mysterious offspring of the Eternal will,

What innocence and grace thy locks adorn!

Thy limbs, the produce of superior skill,

How perfectly and beautifully born!

How fearfully and wonderfully made,

Stampt with the image of eclestical power:

Oh! that thy Maker's love, in them displayed,

May through each future, inexperienced hour,

Protect them still beneath his guardian shade. Nor these alone were fashioned by his hand,

But in thee dwells the germ of deathless mind;

And with thy growing years shall that expand,

And leave all duller, grosser, things behind.

How pleasant then to watch its opening powers.

And aid its first conceptions, as they rise

In such sublime employment of thy hours,

As fits the spirit for her native skies,

And links Angelic nature next to ours. But oh! what faithful training, fervent prayer,

And anxious watchings yet thou wilt require:

Our hands must lead thee with the gentlest care,

Our minds must light thine intellectual fire.

Oh! thou, who pitiest all thy children here,

Grant us thy strength as thou shalt see we need.

Then while thy presence shall thy gift endear,

And filial faith may at thy footstool plead,

We may not cherish one distrustful fear. Sleep on, sweet babe! still would I gaze upon

Thy features, soft with innocence and rest;

Thou hast my tenderest affections won,

And woven unknown ties around my breast:

Beneath thy bountiful and placid brow

The folds of loveliness are mantling mild;

And as I gaze in thoughtful silence now,

Peculiar pleasures, rapturous and wild,

Thou givest me, my darling, my first-born child!
Oh! that through budding childhood, blooming,

Ripe womanhood, and slow declining age,

Wisdom and Virtue, Piety and Truth,

May all thy thoughts, in every scene, engage:

Still may each season, as it rolls along,

Unfold new graces, on thy life to shine;

Thy gentle heart in love to Christ be strong,

His blessed hopes around thy bosom twine,

And comfort, peace and joy, my babe, be ever thine.

S.P.H.

New Series 1:43, p. 4

1840.12.26

From the Baptist Record