C H I L D 2
They say upon his birthday eve ,
She'd rock him to his rest .
As if she could not have him leave ,
The shelter of her breast .
The poor must go in bitter thrift ,
The poor must give in pain .
But ever did she get a gift ,
To greet his day again .
They say she'd kiss the boy awake ,
And hail him gay and clear .
But oh her heart was like to break ,
To count another year .