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GOLD AND LOVE FOR DEARIE
Mother is rocking thy lowly bed
All night long, all night long,
Happy to smooth thy curly head,
To hold thy hand and to sing her song:
'Tis not of the hill-folk dwarfed and old,
Nor the song of thy father, stanch and bold,
And the burthen it beareth is not of gold;
But it's "Love, love! nothing but love—
Mother's love for dearie!"
[39]
