TWO LULLABIES.

Sleep, sleep, my little baby dear,

Thee shall no want or pain come near;

Sleep softly on thy downy nest,

Or on this lace-veiled mother-breast.

Thy cradle is all silken lined,

Wrought roses on thy curtains twined,

Warm woolly blankets o'er thee spread,

With soft white pillows for thy head.

Much gold those little hands shall hold,

And wealth about thy life shall fold,

And thou shalt see nor pain nor strife,

Nor the low ills of common life.

These little feet shall never tread

Except on paths soft-carpeted,

And all life's flowers in wreaths shall twine

To deck that darling head of thine.

Thou shalt have overflowing measure

Of wealth and joy and peace and pleasure,

And thou shalt be right charitable

With all the crumbs that leave thy table.

And thou shalt praise God every day

For His good gifts that come thy way,

And again thank Him, and again,

That thou art not as other men.

For‘ midst thy wealth thou wilt recall —

‘ Tis to God's grace thou owest it all;

And when all's spent that life has given,

Thou'lt have a golden home in heaven.