Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace The innocent brightness of an _infant’s_ face; He raised them in His holy arms; He blessed them from the world and all its harms: Heirs though they were of sin and shame, He blessed them in His own, and in His Father’s Name. _Keble._ Christian! thy dream is now--it was not then: O, it were strange if _childhood_ were a dream. Strife, and the world, are dreams: to wakeful men _Childhood_ and home as jealous angels seem: Like shapes and hues that play in clouds at even, They have but shifted from Thee into Heaven! _F. W. Faber._ Something divine about an _Infant_ seems To them, who watch it in that holy light Of meaning, caught from these celestial words Of Christ--“Forbid them not, but let them come.” Fresh buds of being! beautiful as frail. Types of that kingdom which our souls profess To enter! Symbols of that docile love And meek compliancy of creed and mind, Which Heaven hath canonized, and for its own Acknowledged,--well may thoughtful hearts perceive A mystery, beyond mere nature’s law, Around them girdled like a moral zone. _R. Montgomery._ Death found strange beauty on that polished brow, And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose On cheek and lip. He touched the veins with ice, And the rose faded. Forth from those blue eyes There spake a wishful tenderness--a doubt Whether to grieve or sleep--which innocence Alone may wear. With ruthless hand he bound The silken fringes of those curtaining lids For ever. There had been a murmuring sound With which the babe would claim its mother’s ear, Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set The seal of silence. But there beamed a smile So fixed, so holy, from that cherub brow, Death gazed, and left it there. He dared not steal The signet-ring of heaven. _L. H. Sigourney._ _Child_, there is One, the High above all Height, Who doth not scorn thee-- Ever, from Him, may beams of Heavenly light Comfort--but warn thee-- That from youth’s innocence each proud removal Is a departure from His best approval. _H. H. Weld._ The Lord of Heaven, who, from his throne above, Governs the universe, yet deigns to hear The praise which from the mouths of sucklings flows, And from the lisping babe ordaineth strength. _C. P. Layard._