Mat. Moments of joy!
Ant. What have we done, my child,
To merit such? Heaven, for so high a fate,
Chose us from thousands, and upon thy brow
Inscribed a lofty name—a name so bright,
That he to whom thou bear’st the gift, whate’er
His race, may boast it proudly. What a mark
For envy is the glory of our lot!
And we should weigh its joys against these hours
Of fear and sorrow.