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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.
