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.