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5 Oh my Babe in that calm slumber Vainly would my Soul divine What varied ills thy days may number What miseries fate may thee design. 6 Ingratitude will still pursue thee Persecution be they doom;-- I weep--& while I sadly view thee Think--how peaceful is the Tomb.-- 7 Then sleep sweet Babe, --I ne'er will sorrow Sleep thy halcyon Life away I will not fear the blight to morrow 'Twill [[underline]] come the sharper for its [[/underline]] stay.
