Sleeping Child

Sleep, dearest, long and sweet,With smile upon thy brow,Thy restless, tottering feetAre surely weary now,Trotting about all dayUpon the nursery-floor,Or happier still to playAmong the wild-flowers gayBeside thy father's door.

Thy little laughing eyes,How tranquilly they rest,Thy tiny fingers clasp'dUpon thy guiltless breast,While o'er thy placid faceThe stealing moonbeams fall,And with a heaven-taught graceThy baby features traceUpon the shaded wall.

Sleep, dearest! She whose earHer nursing-infant's sighHath never waked to hearWhen midnight's hush was nigh,

Ne'er felt its balmy kissThe cradle-care repay,Hath she not chanced to missThe deepest, purest blissThat cheers life's pilgrim-way?

To see each budding powerThy Maker's goodness bless,To catch the manna-showerOf thy full tenderness,The immortal mind to train—No more divine employThy mother seeks to gain,Until her spirit drainThe seraph cup of joy.