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 When you fold your hands, Baby Louise!
 Your hands like a fairy's, so tiny and fair,
  With read more 
 When you fold your hands, Baby Louise!
 Your hands like a fairy's, so tiny and fair,
  With a pretty, innocent, saintlike air,
   Are you trying to think of some angel-taught prayer
    You learned above, Baby Louise. 
 There came to port last Sunday night
 The queerest little craft,
  Without an inch of rigging on;
read more 
 There came to port last Sunday night
 The queerest little craft,
  Without an inch of rigging on;
   I looked and looked--and laughed.
    It seemed so curious that she
     Should cross the unknown water,
      And moor herself within my room--
       My daughter! O my daughter! 
 Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained 
strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest read more 
 Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained 
strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the 
enemy and the avenger. 
 Sweet babe, in thy face
 Soft desires I can trace,
  Secret joys and secret smiles,
  read more 
 Sweet babe, in thy face
 Soft desires I can trace,
  Secret joys and secret smiles,
   Little pretty infant wiles. 
 Her beads while she numbered,
 The baby still slumbered,
  And smile in her face, as she bended read more 
 Her beads while she numbered,
 The baby still slumbered,
  And smile in her face, as she bended her knee;
   Oh! bless'd be that warning,
    My child, thy sleep adorning,
     For I know that the angels are whispering with thee. 
 Suck, baby! suck! mother's love grows by giving:
 Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting!
  read more 
 Suck, baby! suck! mother's love grows by giving:
 Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting!
  Black manhood comes when riotous guilty living
   Hands thee the cup that shall be death in tasting. 
 How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
 In their pure incarnation, vying with
  The rose leaves strewn read more 
 How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
 In their pure incarnation, vying with
  The rose leaves strewn beneath them.
   And his lips, too,
    How beautifully parted! No; you shall not
     Kiss him; at least not now; he will wake soon--
      His hour of midday rest is nearly over. 
 The hair she means to have is gold,
 Her eyes are blue, she's twelve weeks old,
  Plump read more 
 The hair she means to have is gold,
 Her eyes are blue, she's twelve weeks old,
  Plump are her fists and pinky.
   She fluttered down in lucky hour
    From some blue deep in yon sky bower--
     I call her "Little Dinky." 
 Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps;
 Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps;
  She, while read more 
 Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps;
 Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps;
  She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,
   Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes.