Father!" they cried, as hanging on his gown On either side, in each perplexed ear They poured their eager tidings—“ He came down— Menino Jesu hath been with us here!— We prayed him to partake our fruit and bread; And he came down—and smiled on us—and fed.” "Children! my children! know ye what ye say?" Bernardo hastily replied-" But hold !— Peace, Briolanja!-rash art thou alway: Let Inez speak." And little Inez told, In her slow silvery speech, distinctly o'er, The same strange story he had heard before. "Blessed are ye, my children!" with devout "Return to-morrow with the morning light, And as before, spread out your simple fare On the same table; and again invite Menino Jesu to descend and share : And if he come, say, 'Bid us, blessed Lord! Forget not, children of my soul! to plead For your old teacher :-even for His sake, Who fed ye faithfully: and he will heed Your innocent lips; With his dear lambs. Return to-morrow. and I shall so partake Then his will be done." SECOND PART. "To-night! to-night! Menino Jesu saith "He bade us come alone; but then we said, We could not without thee, our master dearAt that he did not frown, but shook his head Denyingly; then straight, with many a tear, We pleaded so, he could not but relent, And bowed his head, and smiled, and gave consent." "Now God be praised!" the old man said, and fell In prayer upon the marble floor straightway, His face to earth; and so till vesper bell, Entranced in the spirit's depths he lay, Then rose like one refreshed with sleep, and stood Composed, among th' assembling brotherhood. SLEEP ON! 34337 CORNWALL. Se n' de world is vain; Fang tua bis erells deep; Sveg on! Let no sad truth Hang upon his eyelids deep; Show him Love, without his wings, TO A CHILD IN PRAYER. FOLD thy little hands in prayer, Shining through thy golden hair, Thine eyes are passion free; And pleasant thoughts like garlands bind thee Unto thy home, yet grief may find thee Then pray, Child, pray! Now thy young heart like a bird Singeth in its summer nest, The beauty of its rest, But winter cometh, and decay Wasteth thy verdant home away— Thy spirit is a house of glee, And gladness harpeth at the door, While ever with a merry shout Her lips with music running o'er! And hope will not dance on for ever; Now thy mother's hymn abideth Round thy pillow in the night; And gentle feet creep to thy bed, But that sweet hymn shall pass away, Then pray, Child, pray! W. New Monthly Magazine, 1832. |