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Printers
S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U.S.A.
To my Mother
JULIA WARD HOWE.
Sweet! when first my baby ear
Curled itself and learned to hear,
'Twas your silver-singing voice
Made my baby heart rejoice.
Hushed upon your tender breast,
Soft you sang me to my rest;
Waking, when I sought my play,
Still your singing led the way.
Cradle songs, more soft and low
Than the bird croons on the bough;
Olden ballads, grave and gay,
Warrior's chant, and lover's lay.
So my baby hours went
In a cadence of content,
To the music and the rhyme
Keeping tune and keeping time.
So you taught me, too, ere long,
All our life should be a song,—
Should a faltering prelude be
To the heavenly harmony;