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MOTHER'S LITANY BY THE SICK-BED OF A CHILD.
Saviour, that of woman born,
Mother-sorrow didst not scorn,
Thou, with whose last anguish strove
One dear thought of earthly love;
Hear and aid!
Low he lies, my precious child,
With his spirit wandering wild
From its gladsome tasks and play,
And its bright thoughts far away:—
Saviour, aid!
Pain sits heavy on his brow,
E'en though slumber seal it now;
