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A CRADLE SONG

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All sweet voices are the echoes  That in varied tones reply To that Voice which through the ages  Sings earth’s lullaby. Oftentimes a sleepless infant  For a season frets and cries: All at once an unseen finger  Curtains up the little eyes. So the cradled child He nurses  God will tranquillise. His the all-enfolding Presence;  Oh, what tutelage it brings