  A CHILD was singing at his play— I heard the song, and paused to hear; His mother moaning, groaning lay, And, lo! a specter stood anear! The child shook sunlight from his hair, And caroled gaily all day long— Aye, with that specter gloating there, The innocent made mirth and song! How like to harvest fruit wert thou, O sorrow, in that dismal room— God ladeth not the tender bough Save with the joy of bud and bloom! |
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