Herald Of The Times

[From the Token and Souvenir for 1833.]

THE FIRESIDE.

"What gift have you brought to our own fireside?"

'Twas a mother's voice that spake,—
Without, the tempest doth fiercely chide,
But peace and joy shall within abide;
Oh cherish them for my sake.

A common stock is our happiness here;
Each heart must contribute its mite,
The bliss to swell, or the pain to cheer:
Son and daughter and husband dear,
What will you add to-night?

Then the student boy from the lettered page
Raised a bright, thought-speaking eye;
That knowledge was there which doth gird the sage,
And kindle a flame 'mid the frost of age
With light and majesty.

A blooming girl, like a rose on its stem,
Her bird-like carol poured;
Beauty and music their radiant gem
Shook from their sparkling diadem,
To swell the treasure hoard.

Then a pale, sick child her guerdon brought,
'Twas the smile of patient trust,
For stern disease had a moral wrought,
And patient and pure was her chastened thought.

As a pearl by the rude sea nursed
A fair babe woke in its cradle bed.
And clung to the mother's breast,
But soon to the knee of its sire it sped;
Love was its gift, and the angels said
That the baby's gift was best.

Then the father spake with a grateful air
Of the God whom his youth had known:
And the mother's sigh of tender care
Went up in the shape of a winged prayer,
And was heard before the Throne.