Normale Version: To an Infant: Sure 'tis a holy and a healing thought
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To an Infant

Sure 'tis a holy and a healing thought
That fills my heart and mind at sight of thee,
Thou purest abstract of humanity.
Sweet infant, we might deem thy smile was brought

From some far distant Paradise, where nought
Forbad to hope whate'er of good may be,
Where thou could'st know, and feel, and trust, and see
That innocence which, lost, is vainly sought

In this poor world. Yet, if thou wert so good
As love conceives thee, thou hadst ne'er been born;
For sure the Lord of Justice never would

Have doom'd a loyal spirit to be shorn
Of its immortal glories - never could
Exile perfection to an earth forlorn.