Classic Poem

BY JAMES H. PERKINS .

My little friend, I love to trace
Those lines of laughter on thy face,
Which seems to be the dwelling place
Of all that's sweet:
And bend with pride to thy embrace
Whene'er we meet.

For though the beauty of the flower,
Or of the sky at sunset hour,
Or when the threat'ning tempests lower,
May be divine,
Yet unto me but weak their power
Compared with thine.

And though the ocean waves, which roll
From the equator to the pole,
May tell us of a God's control,
Yet poor they be,
When measur'd by the living soul
Which burns in thee.

Of vast, strange cities we are told,
That were in the dim days of old;
Of thrones of ivory and gold,
By jewels hid;
And temples of gigantic mould,
And pyramid:

But I would brave a hundred toils
To watch thy little ways and wiles,
And bathe my spirit in thy smiles,
And hear thy call,
Rather than walk a dozen miles
To see them all.

For thou, when folly hath beguiled,
Or selfishness, or sense defiled,
Thou meetest me, my little child,
Fresh with my stain —
But when upon me thou hast smiled,
I'm pure again.

Oh, then, by thee I could be led
With joy life's humblest walk to tread:
The lowliest roof, the hardest bed,
Were all I'd ask;
To raise my heart above my head
Should be my task.

What then to me the diamond stone?
And what the gem-encircled zone?
And what the harp's bewitching tone?
Thine azure eye,
Thy ruddy cheek, and laugh, alone,
Would satisfy.

And though all fortune were denied
I 'd struggle still against the tide,
Not pray for any wealth beside,
If I could be
The parent, governor, and guide
Of one like thee.