SONNET. TO MY CHILD—A FELLOW-TRAVELLER.

How of a sudden Sleep has laid on thee His heavy hand—on thee, for ever blest, Sleeping or waking, stirring or at rest: But now thou wert exulting merrily, And in the very middle of thy glee Thy head thou layedst on thy father’s breast, There seeming to have found a peacefuller nest Than one would think might in this loud world be. There were no need to fear thy worser mood, Striving in years to come against the good He would impart, if thou couldst keep in mind How many times, the while with anxious care He sought to screen thee from the chilling air, Upon his bosom thou hast slept reclined.