English child of Eastern birth,
Welcome to our wondrous earth;
Welcome innocent blue eyes,
Opening upon Syrian skies;
Welcome, feet that soon will stand
On Judea's sacred land;
Bud from honorable stem,
Babe born at Jerusalem.

Were I of that faith of old
Christians held 'gainst Paynims bold,
I should say, the Virgin mild
Specially on thee had smiled,
That the Mother of all mothers
Had loved thine beyond the others,
Sending such a priceless gem
To her, in Jerusalem.

Or, if of still older creed,
Ere the world of Christ had need,
I should think of Rachel fair,
Hannah, who child Samuel bare;
Hebrew women, grand and calm,
Whose pure lives roll like a psalm
Down the centuries.
Who like them, Mothers of Jerusalem?

Little sweet god-daughter mine!
Thy fair unknown face will shine
Like the stars which shepherds see
Still, o'er plains of Galilee;
And thy unheard voice will fill
Silence, like Siloam's rill,
Where the hills in purple hem,
Stand about Jerusalem.

Babe, thy future who can see?
But we bless thee, full and free.
Walk, where walked Christ's stainless feet,
In the Temple and the street:
"Ploly, harmless, undefiled,"
Yet to parents human child;
Till thou walk with him — and them —
In the New Jerusalem.

When Letty had scarce pass'd her third glad year,
And her young, artless words began to flow,
One day we gave the child a color'd sphere
Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know
By tint and outline all its sea and land.
She patted all the world; old empires peep'd
Between her baby fingers; her soft hand
Was welcome at all frontiers; how she leap'd
And laugh'd and prattled in her pride of bliss!
But when we turned her sweet, unlearned eye
On our own isle, she raised a joyous cry,
"Oh yes! I see it, — Letty's home is there!"
And while she hid all England with a kiss,
Bright over Europe fell her golden hair.

Death came and touched with icy hand my babe,
And changed its living loveliness to sleep;
Changed into marble white the restless limbs,
And hid the violet eyes in drifts of snow;
Gathered the roses from the dimpled cheeks;
But where they bloomed he left a pale rose-leaf,
In token that my darling did but sleep.
An me! the sleep that never breaks on earth.
He wreathed a smile about the lips, and framed
In rings of burnished gold the snowy brow;
Then bade us bring the fairest buds in bloom,
White stars of Bethlehem, gleaming fresh with dew,
And strew them o'er my sleeping angel-babe,
In memory of the Heavenly Child of yore.
Then raised it, wrapped it in his sable robe,
And took it home to God.

Incense, and flesh of swine, and this year's grain,
At the full mo6n, with suppliant hands bestow,
O rustic Phidyle! So naught shall know
Thy crops of blight, thy vine of Afric bane,
And hale the nurselings of thy flock remain
Through the sick apple-tide. Fit victims grow
’Twixt holm and oak upon the Algid snow,
Or Alban grass, that with their necks must stain
The pontiff's axe: to thee can ill avail
Thy little gods wfith much slain to assail, —
And rosemary, and myrtle chapletries.
Lay on the altar a hand pure of fault;
More than rich gifts the powers it shall appease,
Though pious but with meal and sparkling salt.

Still are the ships that in haven ride,
Waiting fair winds or turn of the tide;
Nothing they fret, though they do not get
Out on the glorious ocean wide.
O wild hearts, that yearn to be free,
Look, and learn from the ships of the sea!

Bravely the ships, in the tempest tossed,
Buffet the waves till the sea be crossed;
Not in despair of the haven fair,
Though winds blow backward, and leagues be lost.
O weary hearts, that yearn for sleep,
Look, and learn from the ships on the deep!