My Father
Who took me from my mother's arms,
And, smiling at her soft alarms,
Show'd me the world and nature's charms?
My Father.
Who made me feel and understand
The wonders of the sea and land,
And mark, through all, the Maker's hand?
My Father.
Who climb'd with me, the mountain's height,
And watch'd my look of dread delight,
While rose the glorious orb of light?
My Father
Who, from each flower and verdant stalk,
Gather'd a honey'd store of talk,
To fill the long, delightful walk?
My Father.
Not on an insect would he tread;
Nor strike the stinging nettle dead;
Who taught at once my heart and head?
My Father
Who wrote upon that heart the line
Religion grav'd on Virtue's shrine,
To make the human race divine?
My Father.
Who taught my early mind to know
The God from whom all blessings flow,
Creator of all things below?
My Father.
Who, now, in pale and placid light
Of mem'ry gleams upon my sight,
Bursting the sepulchre of night?
My Father.
Oh! teach me still the Christian plan;
Thy practice with thy precept ran:
Nor yet desert me now a man,
My Father.
Still let thy scholar's heart rejoice,
With charms of thy angelic voice,
Still prompt the motive and the choice,
My Father.
For yet remains a little space,
Till I shall meet thee face to face,
And not, as now, in vain embrace
My Father.
Soon, and before the mercy seat,
Spirits made perfect – we shall meet;
Thee with what transport shall I greet,
My Father!
~~
Ann Taylor (1782-1866)
from Original Poems for Infant Minds, 1834
from Original Poems for Infant Minds, 1834
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
Sanket Mehta, Father and Son, 2014. CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons.
Quite a good one, I have some poetry written for my father and grandfather, who are I and II of my name.
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