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THE BABY.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

THE BABY.

Safe, sleeping on its mother's breast,
The smiling babe appears;
Now, sweetly sinking into rest,
Now, washed in sudden tears.
Hush, hush, my little baby dear,
There's nobody to hurt you here.
Without a mother's tender care,
The little thing must die;
Its chubby hands so soft and fair
No service can supply;
And not a tittle can it tell
Of all the things we know so well.
The lamb sports gaily on the grass
When scarcely born a day;
The foal beside its mother ass
Trots frolicsome away;

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And not a creature, tame or wild,
Is half so helpless as a child.
To nurse the dolly gaily drest,
And stroke its flaxen hair,
Or ring the coral at its waist,
With silver bells so fair,
Is all the little creature can,
That is some day to be a man.
Full many a summer's sun must glow,
And lighten up the skies,
Before its tender limbs can grow
To anything of size;
And all that time the mother's eye
Must every little want supply.
Then surely, when each little limb
Shall grow to healthy size,
And youth and manhood strengthen him
For toil and enterprise,
His mother's kindness is a debt
He never, never will forget.