Sonnet X. To Mary Poem by Henry Alford

On thy young brow, my sister, twenty years
Have shed their sunshine; and this April morn
Looks on thee fresh and gladsome, as new--born
From veiling clouds the king of day appears:
Thou scarce canst order back the thankful tears
That swell in thy blue eyes; nor dare to meet
The happy looks that never cease to greet
Thee the dear nursling of our hopes and fears.
This Eastertide together we have read
How in the garden, when that weeping one
Asked sadly for her Lord of some unknown,
With look of sweet reproof He turned and said,
``Mary''--Sweet sister, when thy need shall be,
That word, that look, so may He turn on thee!