In sinners of an hundred years. Mother's prattle, mother's kiss, Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss. Rites, which custom does impose, Silver bells and baby clothes; Coral redder than those lips, Which pale death did late eclipse; Music framed for infants' glee, Whistle never tuned for thee; Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them, Loving hearts were they which gave them. Let not one be missing; nurse, See them laid upon the hearse Of infant slain by doom perverse. Why should kings and nobles have Pictured trophies to their grave; And we, churls, to thee deny Thy pretty toys with thee to lie, A more harmless vanity? * * * * * THE CHRISTENING. Array'd--a half-angelic sight-- In vests of pure Baptismal white, The mother to the Font doth bring The little helpless nameless thing, With hushes soft and mild caressing, At once to get--a name and blessing. Close by the babe the Priest doth stand, The Cleansing Water at his hand, Which must assoil the soul within From every stain of Adam's sin. The Infant eyes the mystic scenes, Nor knows what all this wonder means; And now he smiles, as if to say "I am a Christian made this day;" Now frighted clings to Nurse's hold, Shrinking from the water cold, Whose virtues, rightly understood, Are, as Bethesda's waters, good. Strange words--The World, The Flesh, The Devil-- Poor Babe, what can it know of evil? But we must silently adore Mysterious truths, and not explore. Enough for him, in after-times, When he shall read these artless rhymes, If, looking back upon this day With quiet conscience, he can say-- "I have in part redeem'd the pledge Of my Baptismal privilege; And more and more will strive to flee All which my Sponsors kind did then renounce for me." * * * * * THE YOUNG CATECHIST[1] [Footnote 1: A picture by Henry Meyer, Esq.] While this tawny Ethiop prayeth, Painter, who is she that stayeth By, with skin of whitest lustre, Sunny locks, a shining cluster, Saint-like seeming to direct him To the Power that must protect him? Is she of the Heaven-born Three, Meek Hope, strong Faith, sweet Charity; Or some Cherub?-- They you mention Far transcend my weak invention. 'Tis a simple Christian child, Missionary young and mild, From her stock of Scriptural knowledge, Bible-taught without a college, Which by reading she could gather Teaches him to say OUR FATHER To the common Parent, who Color not respects, nor hue. White and black in Him have part, Who looks not to the skin, but heart. * * * * * TO A YOUNG FRIEND, ON HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY.