The rose is on its snowy cheek, Fresh as when embalmed with dew, And O, its eyes are like the stars, ’Tween the soft clouds glancing through! The ruby lip that mutely smiles, The waving of the curls of gold, The changing glances of the eye, All shadow forth bright thoughts untold. I know that in its sinless breast, Embowered in the little heart, Thoughts primitive steal softly on, And Love’s own happy flowers start. God’s Spirit oft may light its mind With thoughts of gladness from above; Too fair for earth, thy darling seems; Let angels name the little Love. O! let it never see a frown, Nor hear a cold or cruel word; Its eye will imitate thy glance; Its tongue repeat whate’er is heard. O guard, with prayer, this angel germ; This bud upon Life’s ocean tossed, Lest thou shouldst ever see thy child Numbered among the loved and lost. O guard, with prayer, this deathless bud! That lust may never blight its bloom; And thou shalt see this cherished one In realms of peace beyond the tomb. Teach it to fold those little hands, And bend the knee to Christ in prayer: And all the wishes of the heart To tell the Lord who listens there. Teach it to plead the promises, Bequeathed in the sweet Book divine, If thou wouldst have this child of earth Among the stars of Heaven to shine. THE TWO CRADLES THE BABY PRINCESS The cradle, carved like an open shell Of ebony, polished bright, Was all inlaid with silver rare That shone in the mellow light,— Which streamed through the tiny curtains, wove Of silver gauze and velvet flowers, And lightly touched the infant’s cheek, As it lay in satin wrappings, weak, And slept through the quiet hours; And the princess dreamed in her costly bed, With a lady grand at her feet and head; And never knew nor cared what grace Had fashioned frills of her dainty lace; For she dreamed no sweeter while she slept, Nor suffered less when in pain she wept; Though the lullaby in the chorus said: “There’s a sparkling crown for the royal head.” THE LITTLE RUSTIC In its cradle-hammock, cool and light, A baby swayed in the summer air; And through the leaves of the spreading trees, It looked on the pure, blue heavens there; And smiled as the warblers sang a song, And cooed as the sweet breeze swept along, Till its eyelids drooped and the lashes lay On the velvet cheek; while the mother there Guards still the babe of her tender care: And the winds blow soft as they come that way To touch the curls, and then whispering say, “Peace to the child in its hammock bed, And crowns of health for the bright young head.” MY DARLING UNBORN