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4

But yet the now approaching morn
One pleasure will unfold,
My sister and her beauteous babe
Once more I shall behold.

And though her presence cannot give
The joy which once it gave,
Nor from one racking, torturing pain
My wearied frame can save,

Yet still, 't is sweet to hear her voice,
And feel my hand in hers;—
To know she 's sitting by my bed,
A solace true confers.

Her sweetly prattling infants too,
With sportive innocence,
Could cheer a heart less pained than mine,
Or soothe less aching sense.

E'en now their playful kiss
Has a prevailing charm;
Their artless questions too afford
A momentary calm.

Their little songs of joy
Are constant all the day;
And laughing eyes and merry looks
Bespeak their life is May.

Or, if sometimes a tear
Bedim those sparkling eyes.