THE BAPTISM.

She stood up in the meekness of a heart

Resting on God, and held her fair young child

Upon her bosom, with its gentle eyes

Folded in sleep, as if its soul had gone

To whisper the baptismal vow in Heaven.

The prayer went up devoutly, and the lips

Of the good man glowed fervently with faith

That it would be, even as he had pray'd,

And the sweet child be gather'd to the fold

Of Jesus. As the holy words went on

Her lips mov'd silently, and tears, fast tears

Stole from beneath her lashes, and upon

The forehead of the beautiful child lay soft

With the baptismal water. Then I thought

That, to the eye of God, that mother's tears

Would be a deeper covenant, which sin

And the temptations of the world, and death

Would leave unbroken, and that she would know

In the clear light of heaven, how very strong

The prayer which press'd them from her heart had been

In leading its young spirit up to God.