 | Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] |  |
113
A MOTHER TO HER SLEEPING CHILD.
Rest on, dear boy, thy mother still is near;Oh!—wherefore start,—whence comes that briny tear?
Begot by trouble in so young a breast,
E'en sleep has nursed thee by her own unrest;
Rude thing, away—go dim the eye of age,
Teach sin to feel, nor blot so fair a page.
Tears are best seen, when, o'er another's woe,
Hearts bleed for sufferings which thou ne'er may'st know.
On thy dear cheek—so innocently fair,
May troubles' offspring lurk no longer there;
Peace to thy slumbers,—long may'st thou enjoy
Sweet dreamless sleep, the blessing of the boy:
Oh! may thy mother's tears have ransomed thine—
Wake, wake, and bless her with a smile divine!
| Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] | |