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To bring a helpless babe to light,
Then, while it lies forlorn,

To gaze upon that dearest sight,
And feel herself new-born,

In its existence lose her own,

And live and breathe in it alone;

This is a mother's love.

Its weakness in her arms to bear;
To cherish on her breast,

Feed it from love's own fountain there,

And lull it there to rest;

Then while it slumbers watch its breath,
As if to guard from instant death;
This is a mother's love.

To mark its growth from day to day,
Its opening charms admire,

Catch from its eye the earliest ray
Of intellectual fire;

To smile and listen while it talks,
And lend a finger when it walks;
This is a mother's love.

And can a mother's love grow cold?
Can she forget her boy?
His pleading innocence behold,
Nor weep for grief-for joy!
A mother may forget her child,
While wolves devour it on the wild;
-Is this a mother's love?

Ten thousand voices answer, "No!"

Ye clasp your babes and kiss;
Your bosoms yearn, your eyes o'erflow;
Yet, ah! remember this;

The infant, rear'd alone for earth,
May live, may die,-to curse his birth;
-Is this a mother's love?

A parent's heart may prove a snare;
The child she loves so well,
Her hand may lead, with gentlest care,
Down the smooth road to hell;
Nourish its frame,-destroy its mind:
Thus do the blind mislead the blind,

Even with a mother's love.

Blest infant! whom his mother taught
Early to seek the Lord,
And pour'd upon his dawning thought

The day-spring of the word;
This was the lesson to her son,
-Time is eternity begun :

Behold that mother's love.*

Blest mother! who, in wisdom's path,

By her own parent trod,

Thus taught her son to flee the wrath,
And know the fear of God:

Ah! youth, like him enjoy your prime,
Begin eternity in time,

Taught by that mother's love.

That mother's love!-how sweet the name!
What was that mother's love?

-The noblest, purest, tenderest flame,
That kindles from above

Within a heart of earthly mould,

As much of heaven as heart can hold,
Nor through eternity grows cold:

This was that mother's love.

THE GLOW-WORM.

The male of this insect is said to be a fly, which the female caterpillar attracts in the night by the lustre of her train.

WHEN evening closes nature's eye,

The glow-worm lights her little spark, To captivate her favourite fly,

And tempt the rover through the dark.

Conducted by a sweeter star

Than all that deck the fields above, He fondly hastens from afar,

To soothe her solitude with love. Thus in this wilderness of tears,

Amidst the world's perplexing gloom, The transient torch of Hymen cheers The pilgrim journeying to the tomb. Unhappy he whose hopeless eye

Turns to the light of love in vain;
Whose cynosure is in the sky,
He on the dark and lonely main.

* 2 Tim. i. 5, and iii. 14, 15.

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