Our Children

Our Children

Our children! O, those magic words,

They vibrate through the frame

As if the chords of life were touched,

And sacred music came.

Our children! though but simple words,

Yet peace and joy impart;

They serve us as a link to bind

Hope's rainbow round the heart;

And all the busy cares of life

Are banished and forgot,

When, filled with love and tenderness,

We cling around their cot.

The little crib in which they lie,

So peaceful, side by side,

The little chair to which they cling

With all their baby pride,

Has each its own peculiar claim

For tenderness and love,

And calls for earnest, heartfelt praise

To Him who rules above;

And when their little voices are

Hushed in the realms of sleep,

Despite myself the tears will rise,

And fears around me creep.

Our angel boy, with winning smiles.

With sweet, seraphic tone,

With crystal laugh, and dark black eyes,

Is all—is all our own;

And when he smiles it is indeed

Like sunshine on a brook,

And every heart pays homage

To his little serious look.

He is indeed our joy, our pride,

And oft I think he's given

To show us here how pure and bright

The angels are in heaven.

And then our gentle, fairy girl,

With golden, waving hair,

With eyes that put to blush the stars,

And face so sweet and fair;

She was the first to claim our love,

But now our boy claims part,

And each now finds a safe retreat

Within a parent's heart;

And oft I fear too much of love—

Too much of love—have they,

And God may ask me for the love

I'm giving thus away.

Unattributed

1:51, p. 1

7.7.1860