ZULMA.

———

BY MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR.

———

Sweet little baby mine,

Gift from a Hand Divine,

What shall I sing thee this bright summer morn?

Is it a fairy dream?

All things more lovely seem

To this fond, grateful heart since thou wert born!

Strange that we love thee so!

Let us the secret know,

Tell us the way that all hearts thou hast won;

Surely some magic lies

Deep in thine earnest eyes,

Or in that smile of thine, beautiful one!

Over thy baby brow

Brown locks are waving now,

When the sun toucheth them changing to gold,

Sweeter art thou by far

Than the pale lilies are,

Or the blue violets that thou dost hold.

Dear little household pet,

With thy bright eyes of jet,

Shining so softly the long lashes through,

Wert thou not born to be

Cherished as tenderly,

Treasured for aye by as fond hearts and true!

Oh! if a mother’s prayer

Reach Heaven’s purer air,

Not for the wealth of this world will I plead,

But that the boon of love,

Holy as that above,

May be thine own in thine hour of need!

And that the smile of Him,

Greater than seraphim,

Before whom angels and archangels bow,

Always may rest on thee,

So shall my darling be

Ever as pure and as happy as now!