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“ OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF GOD."
In stature perfect and with every gift
sprang from earth, the Lord of all below.
But Adam fell before a child was born,
So, Heaven has doom'd that all of Adam's race, Naked and helpless, shall their course begin, E'en at their birth confess their need of
grace, And weeping, wail the penalty of sin.
Yet sure the babe is in the cradle blest,
O sleep, sweet infant, for we all must sleep,
WRITTEN ON THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER,
HAIL, dark November ! spurious progeny
The world is heartsick, and o’erwearied Nature
old The tip-toe levity of Spring, flower-deck’d,
And Summer's pride, and Autumn's hospitality
And now her festal robes
They say Despair has power to kill
Then Hope had perish'd long ago :
IN THE MANNER OF A CHILD OF SEVEN
'Tis silly, sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love Like the old age.
Ah! woe betide my bonny bride,
For war is in the land,
With ruthless bloody brand.
Still as a dream the purple beam
Of eve is on the river,
A blood-red flame will quiver.
Fair in the skies the sun will rise,
As ever sun was seen,
Shall back reflect his sheen :
For the warrior stern our cot will burn,
And trample on the bower ; It grew for
of smiles and tears, 'Twill perish in an hour.
Those firs were old, our grandsires told,
In their good fathers' days; And my soul it grieves that their needle leaves
Must crackle in the blaze.
Beneath their shade how oft we play'd !
There was our place of wooing :But now we're wed, and peace
is fled, And we shall see their ruin.
In battle plain shall I be slain,
And never would I shrink ; Oh! were that all, what
befall To thee, I dare not think.
And our sweet boy, our baby joy.
He 'll for his mother cry,
And then my bird will die.
Green are the graves, and thick as waves,
Within our holy ground ;
An infant's grave is found.
Our fathers died, their whole fireside
Is laid in peace together,
Must brave the wind and weather.