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Show 46 TilE LlB.EitTY DELL. <lrlje Slane Jllotl)er. BY EDWIN CHAPMAN, Husu thee, my baby, on thy mother's breast; Thero, prct'y dear one, nestle to thy rest ; Thou yet nrt mine by every tender tic Of helpless and endearing infancy. Thou image of my hu.sband-husband 1 no, I may not call him husband ; bitter woe Will one day fall upon our broken hearts, When need or cruelty our union parlis. Thou image of thy father ! happy name Where their own offspring men may boldly claim As the free gift. of Heaven I Thou image dear Of thy beloved father, dark and drear 47 Appears thy future, though thou smilest now, And God's own seal is stamped upon thy brow. Why shoulcl'st thou live nnd grow, mid sport and glee, Beguiling my fond heart of misery, While I behold thee, heedless of the day When they shall bear thee to thy doom away? 'Vhy should'st thou twine thee round thy father's soul, And e'en his weariness and pain control By thy sweet winning ways, thou thoughtless child, 'l'hy face all beaming and thy spirits wild 1 Go! wither, wail, nnd die ! thy life is cursed, Thy infancy mid keenest anguish nursed ! I would thou wert not born ! 0 God, forgi,·e, And grant him still beneath my eye to 1i,·e; Perchance I mo.y proserye him at my side, And ho may still within my home abide For many blessed years ! l!.,ather I kneel Ancl nil thy goodness now would deeply f~cl, |