Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Sleeping Child

by Lydia Huntley Sigourney

SLEEPING CHILD.

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Sleep, dearest, long and sweet,
    With smile upon thy brow,
Thy restless, tottering feet
    Are surely weary now,
Trotting about all day
    Upon the nursery-floor,
Or happier still to play
Among the wild-flowers gay
    Beside thy father's door.

Thy little laughing eyes,
    How tranquilly they rest,
Thy tiny fingers clasp'd
    Upon thy guiltless breast,
While o'er thy placid face
    The stealing moonbeams fall,
And with a heaven-taught grace
Thy baby features trace
    Upon the shaded wall.

Sleep, dearest! She whose ear
    Her nursing-infant's sigh
Hath never waked to hear
    When midnight's hush was nigh,

Ne'er felt its balmy kiss
    The cradle-care repay,
Hath she not chanced to miss
The deepest, purest bliss
    That cheers life's pilgrim-way?

To see each budding power
    Thy Maker's goodness bless,
To catch the manna-shower
    Of thy full tenderness,
The immortal mind to train—
    No more divine employ
Thy mother seeks to gain,
Until her spirit drain
    The seraph cup of joy.