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SLEEPING CHILD.
Ne'er felt its balmy kiss
The cradle-care repay,
Hath she not chanced to miss
The deepest, purest bliss
That cheers life's pilgrim-way?
To see each budding power
Thy Maker's goodness bless,
To catch the manna-shower
Of thy full tenderness,
The immortal mind to train—
No more divine employ
Thy mother seeks to gain,
Until her spirit drain
The seraph cup of joy.
