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THE NEW YORK
MARY FIELD FRENCH.
A dying mother
You know, dear, patient heart, you know.
The mother's child you fostered then
Salutes you now and bids you take
And love them for the author's sake.
To you I dedicate this book,
And, as you read it line by line,
As you have always looked on mine.
Tardy the offering is and weak;
Yet were I happy if I knew