Malcolm.

Boy! this world has ever been     A bright, glad world to me;     Through each dark and checkered scene     God's sun shone lovingly.     But Content I've never known;     Hoping, trusting that the years,     With their April smiles and tears,     Would yet bring me one like thee         That I could call my own.     With thy soft and heavenly eyes     In deep and pensive calm,     I seem looking at the skies,     And wonder where I am!     Something more than princely blood     Courses in thy tranquil face:     When she lent thee such a grace,     Nature lit life's earnest flame         In her most queenly mood.     Such a sweet intelligence     Is stamped on every line,     Banqueting our craving sense     With minist'rings divine.     If thy Boyhood be so great,     What will be the coming Man,     Could we overleap the span?     Are there treasures in the mine,         To pay us, if we wait?     Doth the voice of Music live     In that majestic brain,     Waiting for the Hand to give     Expression to the strain?     Are there wells of Truth - pure, deep,     Where the patient diver, Thought,     Finds the pearl that has been sought     Many a weary age in vain,         Entrusted to thy keep.     Doth the fire of Genius burn     Within that ample brow?     Or some patient spirit yearn     For things that are not now?     Hidden in the over-soul     Of the Future, to be born     When the world has ceased its scorn,     When the sceptic's heart will bow         To the divine control.     Patiently we'll watch and hope,     And wait, alternately;     Trusting that, when time shall ope     The casket's mystery,     We will be made rich indeed     With the wonders it contains;     Rich beyond all previous gains;     Richer for thy thought and thee,         Beyond our greatest meed.