MY FIRST BORN.
THE HOUR OF HER BIRTH.
Was’t not a cry of pleasure
Burst from that shrouded room?
God bless thee, mother of my first,
Love’s pledge through joy and gloom;
Long hours we looked to measure
The rapture, now so free,
That, like some stream, the rocks have burst;
Restrained it cannot be.
I may not speak my pleasure,
The tears are in mine eye,
And, like one long awake to thirst,
I pant for liberty—
Freedom to see my treasure,
To hush its cries, and rest
My infant daughter, yet unnursed
Upon her father’s breast.