To a Young Child

As doth his heart who travels far from home
Leap up whenever he by chance doth see
One from his mother-country lately come,
Friend from my home—thus do I welcome thee.
Thou art so late arrived that I the tale
Of thy high lineage on thy brow can trace,
And almost feel the breath of that soft gale
That wafted thee unto this desert place,
And half can hear those ravishing sounds that flowed
From out Heaven’s gate when it was oped for thee,
That thou awhile mightst leave thy bright abode
Amid these lone and desolate tracks to be
A homesick, weary wanderer, and then
Return unto thy native land again.