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WHAT S THAT, MOTHER

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WHAT S THAT, MOTHER WHAT is that, Mother ?— The lark, my child.— The morn has but just looked out, and smiled, Wben he starts from hi3 humble, grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere, To warble it out in his Maker's ear. Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays Tuned, like the lark's, to thy _\lake:'s praise. What is that, my Mother ?— The dove, my son.— And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan, Is flowing out from her gentle breast, Constant and pure by that lonely nest, As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, For her distant dear one's q,uick return. Ever, my son, be thou like the dove,—■ In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. What is that, my Mother 1- The eagle, boy, Proudly careering his course of joy, Firm in his own mountain vigour relying, Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying: His wing on the wind, and his eve on the sun, He swerves not a hair, bufb'iars onward, right all. Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, Onward and upward, *true to the line. What is that, Mother ?_ j.. The swan, my love.—■ He is floating down from his native grove: No lov'd one now, no nestling nigh He 43 floating down by himself to die 1Jeath darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings, Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings. Live so, my love, that when death shall come, Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home.

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