Our Saviour's Boyhood.

With what a flood of wondrous thoughts         Each Christian breast must swell     When, wandering back through ages past,         With simple faith they dwell     On quiet Nazareth's sacred sod,     Where the Child Saviour's footsteps trod.     Awe-struck we picture to ourselves         That brow serene and fair,     That gentle face, the long rich curls         Of wavy golden hair,     And those deep wondrous, star-like eyes,     Holy and calm as midnight skies.     We see Him in the work-shop shed         With Joseph, wise and good,     Obedient to His guardian's word,         Docile and meek of mood;     The Mighty Lord of Heaven and Earth     Toiling like one of lowly birth.     Or else, with His young Mother fair -         That sinless, spotless one,     Who watched with fond and reverent care,         Her high and glorious Son,     Knowing a matron's joy and pride,     And yet a Virgin pure beside.     All marvelled at the strange, shy grace         Of Mary's gentle Son;     Young mothers envied her the Boy         Who love from all hearts won;     And, gazing on that face so mild,     Prayed low to Heaven for such a child.     Though with the boys of Nazareth         He never joined in mirth,     Yet young and old felt strangely drawn         Towards His modest worth;     E'en though that quiet, wondrous Child,         Had never laughed nor even smiled.*     For even then prophetic rose         Before His spirit's gaze     The cruel Cross, the griefs reserved         For manhood's coming days,     And, worse than all, the countless host         That, spite His pangs, might yet be lost.     Silent and calm, He held His way         From morn till evening still;     His thoughts intent on working out         His Mighty Father's will;     While Heaven bent in ecstasy,         O'er the Boy-God of Galilee.