THE MOTHER’S PLEA.

It is my little baby, Now lying fast asleep. Her brow with wrinkles furrowed.— O angels guard and keep My precious, precious baby.— For her I’d gladly die To save her life from sorrow,— For grief is ever nigh. Now ope thine eyes my baby, And gaze thou into mine. If thou dost love me darling, Thine arms around me twine. I loved thee O my baby Before thou camst to earth. I longed for thy dear coming, I longed for baby’s birth. Thou wert a gift from heaven, And selfishly I cling To thee my precious baby. No sorrow dost thou bring. Dost know that ’tis thy mother That’s speaking to thee now? If so, the little wrinkles Will vanish from thy brow. Look up to me my baby, And put thy hands in mine. Dost thou not know, my precious! That for thy love I pine? Was’t kind in me, thy mother To give to thee earth-life? With all of its wild turmoil, And all of its fierce strife. If life shouldst be a burden, No joy in it for thee, Will future life repay thee? And I forgiven be? Will heaven be compensation For all of earthly care? Wilt thou forgive thy mother For all that thou must bear? In vain is all my pleading— Alas! it is too late,— For thou must bear life’s burdens, And thou must meet thy fate.— But, angels guard, and keep thee, This is thy mother’s prayer. At last to heaven take thee; To meet thy mother there.