Sleeping Child (Lydia Sigourney)

by Lydia Sigourney

SLEEP, dearest, long and sweet,
      With smile upon thy brow,
Thy restless, tottering feet,
      Are surely weary now,
Trotting about all day
      Upon the nursery-floor,
Or happier still to play
Among the wild flowers gay
      Beside thy father's door.

Thy little laughing eyes,
      How tranquilly they rest,
Thy tiny fingers clasp'd
      Upon thy guiltless breast,
 While o'er thy placid face
      The stealing moonbeams fall,
And with a heaven-taught grace
Thy baby features trace
      Upon the shaded wall.

Sleep, dearest! She whose ear
      Her nursing-infant's sigh
Hath never waked to hear
      When midnight's hush was nigh,
Ne'er felt its balmy kiss
      The cradle-care repay,
Hath she not chanced to miss
The deepest, purest bliss
      That cheers life's pilgrim-way?

To see each budding power
      Thy Maker's goodness bless,
To catch the manna-shower
      Of thy full tenderness,
The immortal mind to train—
      No more divine employ
Thy mother seeks to gain,
Until her spirit drain
      The seraph cup of joy.