By such a blessed minstrelsy,
Into the world’s wide misery;—
But all unconsciously each thought
Is into melting music wrought.
She does not hear the song she sings,—
Nor can she know the bliss it brings,
Far, far beyond her babe, to me,—
A life’s space from a mother’s knee!
It tells me of a heart at rest,
A quiet mind, contented, blest,—