Tranquil and innocent, tender and calm;
Sweet are the thoughts that approach us at night,
Sweet as the breeze with its perfumy balm.
And if I am reading the happy Word,
Or saying my prayers by the taper's glow,
I wish that my Harry had this preferr'd
To the painted toys and the men below.
'I wish that my Harry had this preferr'd'—
But ought I to wish it, if he does not?