by James Nack
No boon that fortune can impart
May with a gracious child compare;
It winds into the parent's heart,
And twines with every fibre there.
When to my arms my children spring,
Or on my breast their heads recline,
Or to my lips of love they cling,
No joy on earth can equal mine.
Yet e'en on these so fair and dear,
Whose looks are more of heaven than earth,
Some shadow will at times appear,
Some stain that speaks of mortal birth.
But there is an immortal stream
That cleanseth every stain away;
And where those living waters gleam,
All darkness brightens into day.
And thither we our children bring,
To Him who said,
Forbid them not!
That He within that sacred spring,
May cleanse their souls from every spot.
SAVIOUR of all! who in the charms
Of childhood once this world hast trod!
We bring our treasures to Thy arms,
And dedicate them to our GOD!
Source:The Romance Of The Ring, And Other Poems.
Delisser & Procter, 508 Broadway, New York