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She smiles upon the sleeper now
With -such a placid air, That you might deem she never knew
One thought of earthly care.
Perchance just now her kindling eye
Fondly delights to trace The look which won her youthful heart,
In that sweet infant's face.
And hope, with busy, busy hand,
Is twining wreaths of joy; While proud ambition loves to plan
High schemes for that sweet boy.
But does no thought of sorrow blend With hope of joys to come ?
No danger, in the future, lend A painful, shadowy gloom ?
Does she not see the many snares That strew life's dangerous way ?
The countless, dark, corroding cares, Which cloud the brightest day ?
Does no dark presage of the tomb Steal to that mother's breast,
While watching, in its sweetest bloom, Her infant's rosy rest ?
She knows not what a precious flower 'T will be her task to rear,