Child Joy
Sweet Joy,
Canst stand alone?
Born to a throne,
How soon art tumbled down!
A look, a frown
Doth all thy pretty merriment destroy.
Love is thy nurse, sweet Joy;
She folds thee to her breast:
There, tears waste as the dew
When sunshine comes anew
And thou dost rest;
But O, sweet Joy, when thou art fully grown,
Sun, moon and stars shall bow before thy throne.
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