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BABY, THE KING!

My country's very small

'Tis just a room Built by the forest edge, Watched by the moon. Only two persons in 't!

I'm one, and sing;
Baby's the other one—
Baby, the king!

His crown is golden hair,
Measuring an inch;
His sceptre chubby arms,
Tempting to pinch;
His robe's a snowy one;
And I will sing
Of all the gems that deck
Baby, the king!

Two very drowsy eyes,

One funny nose,
Two little feet that kick,

Ten pinky toes;
His law's a cry, but he
Crows while I sing-
Now you know all about

Baby, the king!

Poor dadda went to rest

One year ago, Close by the forest hill,

Under the snow.
Baby he left behind;

What should I do,
If, in this weary world,
I had not you?

When you are grown a man!

Then you will know
How much of life I hid
Under the snow-
Under that snow, my babe!
E'en as I sing,

Tears fall upon your robe,
Baby, my king!

When you are grown a man ;
Ah! should be
you
Careless, or cease to reign

King over me,
"Twould be a sorrow far

Greater to know

E'en than that hidden one
Under the snow!

Shame on me, baby boy!
Shame on my tears!
How could my foolish heart
Conjure such fears?
Baby 's his father's son:
How could he be
But as his father was-
King over me!

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THE JACKDAW.

THERE is a bird who by his coat,
And by the hoarseness of his note,
Might be supposed a crow;
A great frequenter of the church,
Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch
And dormitory too.

Above the steeple shines a plate,
That turns and turns to indicate

From what point blows the weather;
Look up, your brains begin to swim,
'Tis in the clouds! that pleases him,
He chooses it the rather.

You think perhaps he sits and muses
On future broken bones and bruises,
If he should chance to fall;
But not a single thought like that
Employs his philosophic pate,
Or troubles it at all.

He sees that this great roundabout,
The world, with all its motley rout,
Church, army, physic, law,

Its pleasures and its businesses,
Are no concern at all of his,

And says what says he?" Caw!"
says-what

Thrice happy bird! I too have seen
Much of the vanities of men ;

And, sick of seein' 'em,
Would cheerful these limbs resign,
For such a pair of wings as thine,
And such a head between 'em.

WILLIAM COWPER.

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"And like that star whose light pours down, You (when this life is past),

Within your Heavenly Father's crown,
Will shine a star at last."

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