ON THE BAPTISM OF EDITH CONSTANCE COLQUHOUN

I.

E DITH , sweet child, as on thy fair young brow
So softly falls the pure baptismal shower,
May Heaven record and seal the solemn vow,
And bless thee with a more than earthly dower.
Not as the insect of the passing hour,
That lightly dances in the noonday ray,
Nor as the summer's gaily painted flower,
That gives its gladness but one fleeting day.
Be thy life, Edith, good and pure alway;
In storm or calm mayst thou be ever found
A noble woman treading duty's round,
Strong as an oak — soft as the rose of May.
Enjoy thy youth — be happy; yet maintain
A soul washed pure from sin's defiling stain.

II.

Pure as the snow upon the mountain top,
Be thou, sweet child, thro' all the changeful years,
Life-giving as the evening's crystal drop
To those the hot noon of the world sears;
Breathing all sweetness that a soul endears
To Heaven's white throng or to the good on earth,
Soothing rude sorrows, smiling away tears,
Making an Eden round their own dear hearth,
Where wisdom, smiling amidst thoughtful mirth,
Will clothe thee in serenity and peace;
From carking cares will give thy soul release.
Duties well done to daily joys give birth.
The wealth won in the shadow of the Cross
Makes crowns and empires seem but passing dross.

III.

I might have wished thee a more joyous life,
Queen-leader of the festive throng or dance,
Instead of urging thee unto the strife
To fight life's battles with thy fragile lance.
But, ah! fair maiden, as I upward glance
Towards yon beautiful blue starry dome,
And think that we can live our lives but once,
I fain would keep thee treasured in thine home;
The world's touch upon thee lighter than foam
That leaves no impress on the silvery tide;
Thy pure affections filling a circuit wide;
Thine heart from its true pole-star ne'er to roam;
Pouring thy spikenard on His blessed head,
Whose wounds to wash thee have so freely bled.