O Mother Eve, do you never look

From the Pearly Gates to the starry nook,

Where, glimmering here in the spangled blue,

The world shines out that was once for you,—

The dear old home of the Eden bowers

Where first you lived ’mong the birds and flowers?

As you look down on the babies dear,

And see their woes and their crying hear,

As fed with the food for babies not made,

The cheeks grow pale, and the bright hopes fade,—

Does your heart cry out, “Not so! Not so

Must the babe be fed to be strong and grow:

Milk, precious milk, is the wee one’s food,

To strengthen the bones and nourish the blood!”