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Ballads and Lyrics of Socialism 1883-1908 . Nesbit, E. (Edith), 1858–1924.
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page: 32

I

  • SLEEP, sleep, my little baby dear,
  • Thee shall no want or pain come near;
  • Sleep softly on thy downy nest,
  • Or on this lace veiled mother‐breast.
  • Thy cradle is all silken lined,
  • Wrought roses on thy curtains twined,
  • Warm woolly blankets o’er thee spread,
  • And soft white pillows for thy head.
  • Much gold those little hands shall hold,
  • And wealth about thy life shall fold,
  • And thou shalt see nor pain nor strife,
  • Nor the low ills of common life.
  • These little feet shall never tread
  • Except on paths soft‐carpeted,
  • And all life’s flowers in wreaths shall twine
  • To deck that darling head of thine.
  • Thou shalt have overflowing measure
  • Of wealth and joy and peace and pleasure,
  • And thou shalt be right charitable
  • With all the crumbs that leave thy table.
  • And thou shalt praise God every day
  • For His good gifts that come thy way,
  • And again thank Him, and again,
  • That thou art not as other men.
  • For ’midst thy wealth thou wilt recall—
  • ’Tis to God’s grace thou owest it all;
  • And when all’s spent that life has given,
  • Thou’lt have a golden home in heaven.
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