Classic Poem

The west had shut its gate of gold
Upon the parting sun,
And through each window's curtaining fold
Lamps glimmer'd one by one;
And many a babe had sunk to rest,
And many a tender mother's breast
Still lull'd its darling care,
When in a nursery's quiet bound,
With fond affections circled round,
I heard an infant's prayer.

Yes, there it knelt; its cherub face
Upraised with earnest air,
And well devotion's heaven-born grace
Became a brow so fair.
Yet seldom at our Father's throne
Such glad and happy child is known
So tearfully to strive;
For long, with trembling ardour fraught,
That supplicating lip besought,
" Please God, let Lilly live. "

And still went up the imploring strain,
That little couch beside,
As if for " poor sick Lilly's pain, "
It could not be denied.
E'en when the balm of slumber stole
With soothing influence o'er the soul,
Like moonlight o'er the stream,
The murmuring tone, the sobbing strife,
The broken plea for Lilly's life,
Mix'd with the infant dream.

So Lilly lived, but not where time
Is measured out by woes;
Not where stern winter chills the clime,
Or canker eats the rose.
And she who for that darling friend
In agonizing love did bend,
To pour the simple prayer,
Safe from the pang, the groan, the dart,
That grieve the mourning parent's heart,
Lives with her Lilly there.