Classic Poem

With how great pleasure you survey
Your infant offspring round you play,
To those who're mothers I appeal,
They only can conceive, who feel.
Delighted oft in them you trace
The features of their father's face;
And in these tender pledges prove
The sanction and increase of love.
Themselves assiduous to display,
Each tries some little winning way:
The little Harriot, envy'd bliss!
Climbs up your knees to gain a kiss;
While Charles your notice courts by guile,
And plucks your gown, to share your smile;
And William, more advanc'd than these,
A story tells in hopes to please.
Your favour all attempt to gain,
And all are of your favour vain.
By turns your fondness and your care
In various ways alike they share,
And by a kiss, a smile, a word,
Is happiness on each confer'd;
Contriving with a mother's art
To all their wishes to impart,
And render each completely blest,
Yet none more favour'd than the rest.
You 'mong the great and gay I've seen,
Distinguish'd by your dress and mien,
But ne'er you look'd with such a grace,
As now encircl'd by your race.
Oh! to a tender mother's pray'r
May heav'n their lives and safety spare,
Still may their conduct well repay,
Th' anxiety you now display
And you, in age declining, know
The pious cares you now bestow.
May sons, so like their fire, no less
His talents and his worth possess,
And daughters, to their mother's face
Add all her virtues, and her grace.