Poems (Chitwood)/To a Sleeping Child

For works with similar titles, see To a Sleeping Child.

TO A SLEEPING CHILD.

Slumber on fair child—in future years
Not half so sweet will be thy sleep;
For life's conflicting doubts and fears
Will cause thee waking hours to keep,
To watch and pray, perchance to weep,
Till care's deep lines are on thy brow.
Then sleep, fair child, and sweetly sleep,
For not one shadow haunts thee now.

Sleep on—thy dimpled hand is laid
So softly 'mid thy clustering hair,
Thy checks are tinged with rose-leaf shade,
And sweetest Smiles thy young lips wear.
Oh! thou art fair, sweet sleeper—fair
As if an angel's hand did trace
Thy features with exacting care,
And heavenly beauty lights thy face.

I tremble sadly, as my heart
Is pondering o'er what fate may be
When childhood's halcyon days depart,
Amid youth's hours reserved for thee;
Whether thy heart shall still be free
From doubt and sorrow, care and gloom,
Or thou, a stricken one, may'st see
Hope's sunlight set in fate's dark tomb.

Ah! little, little didst thou dream
Of what an older heart must know,
That life is not a tranquil stream,
Whose lucid waves are free from woe;
I would that thou might'st find them so,
But 'tis not oft a mortal's fate;
Full many a sigh, and heart's deep throe
Must make life's moments desolate.

Sleep on, sweet child: I will not think
Of what may come in future hours—
Whether 'twill be thy lot to drink
Of sorrow's cup, or cull the flowers
That brightly bloom in pleasure's bowers;
But I will pray that strength be given
To bear thee through this world of ours,
And faith to bring thee home to heaven.