As she bends o’er the cradle where Innocence sleeps,
And the sweetest of names and the tenderest word
For her little birdling she carefully keeps.
How precious its smiles and its cooing to her;
And the light of its eye gives her joy anew,
And e’en while she sleeps, her fond heart waketh still,
Like a list’ning star in Night’s curtain of blue.
Her fond, circling arms press it still to her breast,
Where lulled by her heart-throb it slumbers again.
If aught should awake it, the mother will start