Ada Cambridge Poems

Blessed are they whose baby-souls are bright,
Whose brows are sealèd with the cross of light,
Whom God Himself has deign'd to robe in white—
Blessed are they!
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Low on her little stool she sits
To make a nursing lap,
And cares for nothing but the form
Her little arms enwrap.
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Never to weary more, nor suffer sorrow,—
Their strife all over, and their work all done:
At peace—and only waiting for the morrow;
Heaven's rest and rapture even now begun.
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O sweet darkness, still, and calm, and lonely!
Spread thy downy pinions round about.
Spare me from thy hidden riches only
One dream-face; blot all the others out.
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Another mile—a year
Pass'd by for ever! And the warnings swell
From upper heaven to darkest depths of hell,—
O we are drawing near!
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Spirit and Breath of Life, whate'er Thy name!
Bear with Thy creature, Man,
That makes his dwelling-place a blot of shame
Upon the Ordered Plan.
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Calm as that moonbeam on the wall,
Sleep broods on baby's eyes;
Arms, hush'd and still, but pulsing quick,
Enfold him as he lies;
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1.

Is it a will o' the wisp, or is dawn breaking,
That our horizon wears so strange a hue?
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Come, go and practise—get your work—
Do something, Nelly, pray.
I hate to see you moon about
In this uncertain way!
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1.

No sight to me like sight of ships.
No wine to me like salt- spray thrown
By morning breezes on my lips;
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