Lines Addressed To A.C.

I. DEAR Babe, soft object of my care, Unseen, for whom I pour my pray'r; Unknown, yet priz'd all else above, The heir of my maternal love; Ah, let me hail, in simplest lay, Thy earliest New-Year's Day! II. Nor past, nor future cloud thy brow, Thy range of thought confin'd to now; Calm on a mother's breast you lie, And heed not if, with tearful eye, For thee her wishes fondly stray O'er many a New-Year's Day. III. Yet soon the years in rapid flight Shall wake thy heart to new delight; Soon shall exulting youth draw near, With charms so fresh, and hopes so dear; And lovely as the bloom of May Shall seem each New-Year's Day. IV. But ah, since Time at length will bring No rapture on his weary wing, Then, o'er thy path, no longer bright, May Virtue shed a line of light, That cheers the pilgrim, when his way Leads to no New-Year's Day!