To Mothers
Mothers, who fresh vigour win
Gazing on each infant face,
Who with prescient pleasure trace
All their future fate therein,
Once again with earnest love
Gaze on us, and thence declare,
Will the wounds the fathers bear
Fruitful to the children prove?
Gazing on each infant face,
Who with prescient pleasure trace
All their future fate therein,
Once again with earnest love
Gaze on us, and thence declare,
Will the wounds the fathers bear
Fruitful to the children prove?
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