>OK0SOf • ■ .■ ..".■' • " diss ^N 1,1 10 Rnnk .0,'* Cojpighl N? COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY LIDA BEOWN McMURRY AND AGNES COOK GALE SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Copies Received DEC 28 1905 , Copyright Entry OLASS OL XXc. No. / S ¥ 6^ COPY B. xV> t*V '$> Copyright, 1905, by SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY. &cknotoletigment The poems in this collection are reprinted by per- mission of the authors in all cases in which the authors could be communicated with, in other cases by permis- sion of the publishers. A very few poems have been copied from newspapers, the publishers of which could not themselves give clue to the authors' identity. The editors will be glad to be informed of the author- ship of any of these unidentified poems, that proper acknowledgment may be made in future editions. Special acknowledgment is due to Elizabeth Akers, for Rock Me to Sleep; to Thomas Bailey Aldrich, for Cradle Song; to Carolyn S. Bailey, for A Christ- mas Lullaby; to Blanche Wilder Bellamy, for the translation of Sunshine; to Mary Elizabeth Blake, for David and Goliath; to Harriet F. Blodgett, for My Laddie and "Willie Boy; to Mrs. Albert Bryant, for the use of Story Time; to James Buckham, for A Child of Today and Lullaby; to the parents of Eudora S. Bum- stead, for A Summer Lullaby ; to Pauline Frances Camp, for Cradle Song; to Kathleen Carman, for Song; to Herbert E. Clarke, for The Teacher; to Austin Dobson, for Little Blue Ribbons; to Emma C. Dulaney, for A Plantation Lullaby; to Richard Watson Gilder, for A November Child and At Night; to Alfred Percival ACKNOWLEDGMENT Graves, for An Irish Lullaby; to Thomas Went- worth Higginson, for Sixty and Six; to Mrs. Georgiana Klingle Holmes (George Klingle), for Patience with the Love; to Edwin H. Keen, for The Foster-Mother ; to Mary H. Krout, for Little Brown Hands ; to Grace Denio Litchfield, for My Other Me; to William S. Lord, for [Mother, Moon and Stars ; to Eva Lovett, for The Tyrant of the House; to Peter McArthur, for The Boy; to Ed- win Markham, for Kyka from his "Lincoln and Other Poems' '; to Emily Huntington Miller, for Her World, My Good for Nothing, Baby's Christening and The Empty Nest; to Alice Ormes, for Mothers' Lullabies; to Francis Sterne Palmer, for Sunlight; to Samuel Minturn Peck, for My Little Girl; to Jeremiah E. Rankin, for The Babie; to Eben E. Rexford, for Kissed His Mother ; to Margaret E. Sangster, for A Gen- tleman, Mother 's Work, The Welcome, and The Trouble- some Baby ; to Andrew Bice Saxton, for The First Step ; to Charles Henry Webb, for Little Mamma; to Robert Burns Wilson, for A Walk with a Child and Lines to a Child; to Nora A. (Piper) Wood, for To Be a Child Again; to Bertha Gerneaux Woods, for God's Little Girl; to George E. Woodberry, for The Child. Our thanks are due also to the following publishers: to D. Appleton and Company, publishers of Bryant's complete works, for The Mother's Hymn, Innocent Child and Snow- White Flower; to the Century Company, for the poems from "Five Books of Song" by Richard Wat- son Gilder, for the poem by Andrew B. Saxton, and for the First Born by Elizabeth C. Kinney, reprinted from ACKNOWLEDGMENT Scribner's Monthly, now The Century Magazine, by per- mission; to the Curtis Publishing Company, for Empty Stockings by Ellen Manly, reprinted by the courtesy of The Ladies' Home Journal ; to E. P. Dutton and Com- pany, for The Children's Triumph by Frances Ridley Havergal; to Forbes and Company, for the poem by Nixon Waterman ; to Ginn and Company, for His Sixth Birthday by Georgiana E. Billings, reprinted from The Youth's Companion; to Harper and Brothers, for A Gentleman from "Little Knights and Ladies" by Mar- garet Sangster; to Houghton, Mifflin and Company (au- thorized publishers of the works of the following au- thors), for the poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfel- low, John Greenleaf Whittier, James Russell Lowell, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Frank Dempster Sherman, Alice Cary, Celia Thaxter and Margaret E. Sangster (Wel- come and The Troublesome Baby) ; to Hurst and Com- pany, for the selection from N. P. Willis's poems; to Charles H. Kerr and Company, for the poem by Alice W. Brotherton; to John Lane, for the poems from "Lil- liput Lyrics" by W. B. Rands; to Little, Brown and Company, for the poem by Helen Hunt Jackson; to McClure, Phillips and Company, for Kyka, from "Lin- coln and Other Poems" by Edwin Markham ; to the Mac- millan Company, for The Toys by Coventry Patmore and for The Child by George E. Woodberry from "Wild Eden," published and copyrighted by The Macmillan Company; to G. P. Putnam's Sons, for the lines from "Golden Bees of Sleep" by Irene Putnam and for My Other Me from "Mimosa Leaves" by Grace Denio Litch- ACKNOWLEDGMENT field; to Charles Seribner's Sons, for Cradle Song by J. G. Holland; to Small, Maynard and Company, for the poems by John B. Tabb, and to Frederick A. Stokes Company, for Patience with the Love from "Make Thy Way Mine ' ' by George Klingle. To the following periodicals we are also indebted: to The Advance, for the poem by Bertha Gerneaux Woods ; to Child Study Monthly, for the poem by Sarah F. Davis; to The Christian Advocate, for the poem by James Buckham, and for A Little Lad's Answer; to Elmira Facts, for Have Faith in the Boy; to The En- quirer (Cincinnati), for My Bad Little Boy; to The Independent, for the poems by Eva Lovett, Bertha G. (Davis) Woods, Josephine Pollard, C. Kathleen Car- man, Thomas Dunn English, and Peter McArthur; to Judge, for the poem by A. T. Worden ; to Kindergarten Review, for the poems by Emma C. Dulaney and Caro- lyn S. Bailey; to The Outlook, for the poems by Pauline Frances Camp, Francis Sterne Palmer and Edwin H. Keen; to The San Francisco Call, for the poem by E. Matheson ; to The Smart Set, for the poem by Madeline Bridges, and to the Somerville (Mass.) Journal, for The Coming Man. vi Contents PAGE I. The Mother Heaet The First-Born Elisabeth C. Kinney 3 Whenever a Little Child is Born 4 Baby's Stars Sarah F. Davis 4 The Mother's Morning Prayer 5 Her "World Emily Huntington Miller 6 What Does Little Birdie Say Alfred Tennyson 7 My Laddie Harriet F. Blodgett 8 Wee Willie Winkie 9 Cuddle Doon Alexander Anderson 10 The Troublesome Baby Margaret E. Sangster 12 The Sweetest Place 13 The Mother's Hymn William Cullen Bryant 14 The Foster Mother Edwin H. Keen 15 The Making of the Music W. B. Rands 16 Sunlight Francis Stern Palmer 17 Mother's Song IS A Divided Kingdom Josephine Pollard 19 Kyka Edwin Markham 20 The Mother's Inspiration 21 My Child Woke Crying From Her Sleep George Macdonald 21 Prophecy 22 Where's the Baby Alice W. Brotherton 23 My Children Yamagami no Okura 24 II. Evening Songs After Sunset E. Matheson 27 A Little Evening Journey 28 Lullaby James Buckham 29 CONTENTS PAGE Sleep, Baby, Sleep Elizabeth Prentiss 30 Mothers' Lullabies Alice Ormes 30 The Cottager to Her Infant Dorothy Wordsworth 31 The Little Golden Bees Irene Putnam 32 Shadow-Town Perry Lillian Dynevor Rice 32 Lullaby Frank Dempster Sherman 33 Cradle Song Thomas Bailey Aldrich 34 Mother, Moon and Stars William S. Lord 34 Cradle Song Isaac Watts 35 A Summer Lullaby Eudora S. Bumstead 36 Swedish Mother's Lullaby , 37 Lullaby Henrik Ibsen 37 The Way to Sleepy town Nixon Waterman 38 To a Sleeping Child Arthur Hugh Clough 39 Gipsy Mother Song May Byron 40 Lullaby of an Infant Chief Walter Scott 41 Irish Lullaby Alfred Percival Graves 42 A Plantation Lullaby Emma C. Dulaney 43 Lullaby W. B. Rands 44 Cradle Song Celia Thaxter 45 A Christmas Lullaby Carolyn S. Bailey 46 Seeing God W. B. Rands 46 Old Gaelic Lullaby 47 My Little Girl Samuel Minturn Peck 48 The Cradle Song Pauline Frances Camp 49 We All Need Lullabies Mary Rollins Murphy 50 Lullaby Alfred Tennyson 51 Song C. Kathleen Carman 52 III. The Father's Love At Night Richard Watson Gilder 55 The Welcome Margaret E. Sangster 56 Little Bell Thomas Westwood 57 Sixty and Six Tlior.ias Wentworth Higginson 58 The Toys Coventry Patmore 59 viii CONTENTS PAGE Little Mamma Charles Henry Webb 60 The Baby Victor Hugo 64 What the Children Say Thomas C. Roney 65 The First Step Andrew Bice Saxton 67 Golden Tressed Adelaide Barry Cornwall 68 Baby George Macdonald 69 Farewell Advice Charles Kingsley 70 Two Heavens Leigh Hunt 70 IV. The Child- World A Little Girl Lawrence Alma-Tadema 73 Wishing William Allingham 74 The Lamb-Child John B. Tabb 75 Out of the Mouths of Babes Francis Thompson 75 Solomon and Mamma 76 A Little Lad's Answer 77 The Little Boy's Lament A. T. Worden 78 The Boy Peter McArthur 80 The Tyrant of the House Eva Lovett 80 My Good for Nothing Emily Huntington Miller 81 Not a Child Algernon Charles Swinburne 82 V. Child-Pictures First Footsteps Algernon Charles Swinburne 86 The Child William Wordsworth 86 Iseult's Children Matthew Arnold 87 Baby's Dimples John B. Tabb 88 Weighing the Baby Ethelinda Elliott Beers 89 Sunshine Translated from the French 90 A Little Blind Child's Smile Dinah Mulock Craik 91 The Journey 92 The Babie Jeremiah E. Rankin 93 What Is the Little One Thinking About. .J. G. Holland 94 Story Time Albert Bryant 95 Bedtime 96 ix CONTENTS PAGE His Sixth Birthday Georgiana E. Billings 97 The Coming Man 98 Kissed His Mather Eben E. Rexford 99 Our Darling 100 Polly W. B. Rands 102 Karlene Richard Hovey 103 A Baby's Hands Algernon Charles Swinburne 106 On the Picture of a Child Tired of Play Nathaniel P. Willis 107 A Child's Laughter Samuel Hinds 10S Only a Baby Small M. Barr 109 A Portrait Elizabeth Barrett Browning 110 Baby May W. C. Bennett 111 A Bunch of Roses John B. Tabb 113 The Mother's Return Dorothy Wordsworth 114 Little Blue Ribbons Austin Dobson 116 Nurse's Song William Blake 118 A Baby's Feet Algernon Charles Swinburne 118 Letty's Globe Charles Tennyson-Turner 119 A Child Asleep Elizabeth Barrett Browning 120 To a Child Henry W. Longfellow 120 VI. Ministry The Little People John Greenleaf Whittier 123 The Teacher Herbert E. Clark 124 The Child George E. Woodberry 125 A Walk With a Child Robert Burns Wilson 126 The Children's Triumph Frances Ridley Havergal 128 Empty Stockings Ellen Manly 129 Children Henry W. Long-fellow 130 Child Songs .John Greenleaf Whittier 131 Home They Brought Her W T arrior Dead Alfred Tennyson 134 VII. The Empty Nest My Little Boy Dinah Mulock Craik 137 CONTENTS PAGE We Are Seven William Wordsworth 138 When the Baby Died Helen Hunt Jackson 140 The Reaper and the Flowers Henry W. Longfellow 142 We Watched Her Breathing Thomas Hood 143 The Mother's Jewels Archbishop Trench 144 My Bad Little Boy 145 The Sleeping Babe Samuel Hinds 147 God's Little Girl Bertha Gerneaux Woods 148 VIII. Ideals A Child of Today James BucJcham 151 Little Brown Hands M. H. Krout 152 A November Child Richard Watson Gilder 153 A Gentleman Margaret E. Sangster 154 Children Madeline Bridges 155 The Empty Nest Emily Huntington Miller 156 Lines to a Child Robert Burns Wilson 157 Going to Work Dinah Mulock Crailc 158 Believe That by the Good 159 To a Timid Child Dinah Mulock Craik. 160 Mother, Watch 161 Patience with the Love George Klingle 162 Innocent Child and Snow-White Flower William Cullen Bryant 163 Have Faith In The Boy 164 Baby's Christening Emily Huntington Miller 166 The Children's Appeal Mary Howitt 166 Grandpapa Dinah Mulock Craik 168 Three Years She Grew William Wordsworth 169 On a Child Samuel Rogers 170 David and Goliath Mary Elizabeth Blake 171 Little Children Alice Gary 172 Mother and Child Thomas Hood 172 The Rosebud Thomas Dunn English 173 Our Children C. H. Landon 174 CONTENTS PAGE IX. The Long Ago To Be a Child Again Nora A. Piper 177 Weariness Henry W. Longfellow 178 My Other Me Grace Denio Litchfield 179 Willy Boy, Where Are You Going. .Harriet F. Blodgett 180 Boyhood Washington Allston 181 The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier 181 Rock Me to Sleep Elizabeth Akers 185 xii Hfet of awtljot* PAGE Akers, Elizabeth 185 Aldrich, Thomas Bailey 34 Allingham, William 74 Allston, Washington 181 Alma, Tadema Lawrence 73 Anderson, Alexander 10 Arnold, Matthew 87 Bailey, Carolyn S .46 Barr, M. 109 Beers, Ethelinda Elliott 89 Bennett, W. C Ill Billings, Georgiana B 97 Blake, Mary Elizabeth 118, 171 Blodgett, Harriet F 8, 180 Bridges, Madeline 155 Brotherton, Alice W 23 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett .... HO, 120 Bryant, Albert 95 Bryant, William Cullen 14, 163 Buckham, James 29, 151 Bumstead, Eudora S 36 Byron, May 40 Camp, Pauline Frances 49 Carman, C. Kathleen 52 Cary, Alice 172 Clark, Herbert E. 124 xiii LIST OF AUTHORS PAGE Clough, Arthur Hugh 39 Cornwall, Barry 68 Craik, Dinah Mulock ... 91, 137, 158, 160, 168 Davis, Sarah F. ........ 4 Dobson, Austin 116 Dulaney, Emma C. 43 English, Thomas Dunn 173 Gilder, Richard Watson 55, 153 Graves, Alfred Percival 42 Havergal, Frances Ridley 128 Higginson, Thomas Wentworth . . . . . 58 Hinds, Samuel 108, 147 Holland, J. G 94 Hood, Thomas . 143, 172 Hovey, Richard 103 Howitt, Mary .166 Hugo, Victor . 64 Hunt, Leigh 70 Ibsen, Henrik 37 Jackson, Helen Hunt 140 Keen, Edwin H 15 Kingsley, Charles 70 Kinney, Elizabeth C 3 Klingle, George 162 Krout, M. H 152 Landon, C. H. 174 Litchfield, Grace Denio 179 Longfellow, Henry W 120, 130. 142, 178 Lord, William S. 34 Lovett, Eva 80 McArthur, Peter 80 Macdonald, George 21, 69 Manly, Ellen 129 Markham, Edwin . .20 Matheson, E. f 27 xiv LIST OF AUTHORS Miller, Emily Huntington . Murphy, Mary Rollins Okura, Yamagami no' Ormes, Alice Palmer, Francis Stern Patmore, Coventry Peck, Samuel Minturn Piper, Nora A. Pollard, Josephine Prentiss, Elizabeth Putnam, Irene Rands, W. B. Rankin, Jeremiah E. Rexford, Eben E. Rogers, Samuel Roney, Thomas C. Sangster, Margaret E. Saxton, Andrew Bice . Scott, Walter Sherman, Frank Dempster Swinburne, Algernon Charles Tabb, John B. Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson-Turner, Charles Thaxter, Celia Thompson, Francis Trench, Archbishop Waterman, Nixon Watts, Isaac Webb, Charles Henry Westwood, Thomas Whittier, John Greenleaf 82, PAGE 6, 81, 156, 166 60 . 24 30 . 17 59 . 48 . 177 . 19 30 . 32 16, 44, 46, 102 . 93 99 . 170 65 12, 56, 154 67 . 41 33 86, 106, 118 75, 88, 113 7, 51, 134 . 119 . 45 75 . 144 38 . 35 60 . 57 .123, 131, 181 Willis, Nathaniel P 107 Wilson, Robert Burns 126, 157 Woodberry, George E 125 LIST OF AUTHORS PAGE Woods, Bertha Gerneaux 148 Worden, A. T 78 Wordsworth, Dorothy 31, 114 Wordsworth, William .... ,., 86, 138, 169 xvi I tfyt jfir$t=315orn Tread reverently ! This is a holy place ! A soul this moment here begins to be — A spirit born to live eternally : Speak low ! Commences here a human race. An infant man, God's image on his face, In life's rough journey takes his first degree, Opens his eyes, ah, not the end to see : Only Omniscience all that path can trace. Softly in whispers; there a mother lies, The dew of youth upon her, yet so pale! She folds white hands, and looks with upturned eyes, To her Deliverer, seen as through the veil Of this hour's weakness; still her full heart tries For thankful utterance, though words may fail. 'Elizabeth C. Kinney. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Wtyntbtt a Hittlt Cf)ttt> te 315ont Whenever a little child is born, All night a soft wind rocks the corn, One more buttercup wakes to the morn, Somewhere, somewhere. One more rosebud shy will unfold, One more grassblade push through the mold, One more bird-song the air will hold, Somewhere, somewhere. 315abE'$ g>tat# The sun may rise, the sun may set, The stars may come and go, The moon may sink 'Neath ocean's brink, The sky with clouds o'erflow. But still within the baby's heaven Two stars shine clear above, Twin orbs that light By day and night His little world of love. Brief tears may bring a fleeting mist That now the vision mars, But sorrow flies; For mother's eyes Are ever baby's stars. Sarah F. Davis. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Wfyt spotter's doming prater Up to me sweet childhood looketh, Heart and mind and soul awake. Teach me of Thy ways, Father, For sweet childhood's sake. In their young hearts soft and tender Guide my hand good seed to sow, That its blossoming may praise Thee Wheresoe'er they go. Give to me a cheerful spirit, That my little flock may see It is good and pleasant service To be taught of Thee. Father, order all my footsteps; So direct my daily way That, in following me, the children May not go astray. Let Thy holy counsel lead me ; Let Thy light before me shine, That they may not stumble over Word or deed of mine. Draw us hand in hand to Jesus For His word's sake unforgot — "Let the little ones come to me And forbid them not. ' ' SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Behind them slowly sank the western world, Before them new horizons opened wide ; " Yonder/ ' he said, "old Rome and Venice wait, And lovely Florence by the Arno's tide." She heard, but backward all her heart had sped, Where the young moon sailed thro ' the sunset red. 1 'Yonder,' ' she thought, "with breathing soft and deep, My little lad lies smiling in his sleep/' They sailed where Capri dreamed upon the sea, And Naples slept beneath her olive trees ; They saw the plains where trod the gods of old, Pink with the flush of wild anemones. They saw the marbles by the master wrought To shrine the heavenly beauty of his thought. Still ran one longing thro' her smiles and sighs, "If I could see my little lad's sweet eyes." Down from her shrine the dear Madonna gazed, Her baby lying warm against her breast. ""What does she see?" he whispered, "can she guess The cruel thorns against soft temples pressed ? ' ' "Ah, no," she said, "she shuts him safe from harms "Within the love-locked harbor of her arms. No fear of coming fate could make me sad, If so, to-night, I held my little lad." SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD ' ' If you could choose, ' ' he said, * ' a royal boon, Like that girl dancing yonder for the king, What gift from all her kingdom would you bid Obedient Fortune in her hand to bring V 9 The dancer 's robe, the glittering banquet hall Swam in a mist of tears along the wall. "Not power, ,, she said, "nor riches, nor delight, But just to kiss my little lad to-night.' ' Emily Huntington Miller. WW HDoes Mult MMt £mi? What does little birdie say, In her nest at peep of day? "Let me fly/' says little birdie, "Mother, let me fly away." "Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger. ' ' So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say, In her nest at peep of day? Baby says like little birdie, "Let me rise and fly away." "Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the little limbs are stronger, If she sleeps a little longer, Baby too shall fly away. ' ' Alfred Tennyson. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Oh ! have you seen my laddie ? You'll know him by his eyes, As clear and true, as bright and blue As bits of summer skies. And by his head so bonnie,— You '11 think from every hair, A web was spun to catch the sun And keep it shining there. His lips are curving like a bow, His teeth gleam white between, Like roses red in garden bed His smooth young cheeks are seen. Oh ! if you see my laddie, Just whisper in his ear That day and night, all my delight Is thinking of my dear. Is thinking of my dearie, And long as suns may shine, Or rivers flow or winds do blow, He is my Valentine. Harriett F. Blodgett. 80NG8 OF MOTHER AND CHILD Wtt Willit Winhit Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Upstairs and downstairs in his nicht-gown, Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed?"— for it's now ten o'clock. Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben? The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleep in' hen, The dog's speldered on the floor and doesna gie a cheep ; But here's a waukrife laddie that winna fa' asleep. Onything but sleep, ye rogue — glowerin' like the moon Rattlin' in an aim jug wi' an aim spoon; Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock, Skirlin' like a kenna what,— wauknin' sleepin' folk. Hey, Willie Winkie! The wean's in a creel, Waumblin' an 3 a body's knee like a vera eel ! Ruggin' at the cat's lug an 'ravellin' a' her thrums; Hey, Willie Winkie ! See, there he comes. Weary is the mither that has a story wean, A wee stumpy stoussie that canna rin his lane, That has a battle aye wi' sleep before he'll close an ee; But a kiss f rae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me. SON 08 OF MOTHER AND CHILD CuUUle SDoon The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht Wie muckle faucht an' din; Oh try an' sleep, ye waukrife rogues, They never heed a word I speak; I try to gie a froon, But aye I hap them up an' cry, "0 bairnies, cuddle doon." Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid — He aye sleeps next the wa' — Bangs up an* cries, "I want a piece!" The rascal starts them a\ I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks, They stop a wee the soun'; Then draw the blankets up an 7 cry, "Noo, weanies, cuddle doon." But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab Cries oot frae neath the claes, "Mither, mak Tarn gie ower at ance- He's kittlin' wi' his taes." The mischief's in that Tarn for tricks, He'd bother half the toon: But aye I hap them up an* cry, "0 bairnies, cuddle doon." 10 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD At length they hear their father 's fit, An' as he streeks the door, They turn their faces to the wa' An' Tarn pretends to snore. "Hae a' the weans been gude ?" he asks, As he pits aff his shoon ; "The bairnies, John, are in their beds, And lang since cuddled doon." An' just before we bed oursel', We look at oor wee lambs ; Tarn has his airms roun' wee Rab's neck, An' Rab his airms roun' Tarn's. I lift wee Jamie up the bed, An' as I straik each croon, I whisper, till my heart fills up, 1 ' bairnies, cuddle doon. ' ' The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, Wi' mirth that's dear to me; But soon the big warl's cark an' care Will quaten doon their glee. Yet come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits abune Aye whisper, tho' their pows be bauld, 1 ' bairnies, cuddle doon. ' ' Alexander Anderson. ll SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Gfyz troublesome 115ab£ The little ones cling to the mother, With kisses that softly fall, But somehow the troublesome baby Is nearest her heart of all— 111 and fretful and small, But dearest to mother of all. The neighbors wonder and pity, Hearing its querulous cry. "She is losing her youth and beauty,' ' Say friends as they pass her by ; "Well were the babe to die, And the mother have rest, ' ' they sigh. But over the wee white cradle, Her soft eyes full of prayer, Bendeth the weary mother; And never was face so fair,— Pale and tired with care, But the glory of love is there. Rosy and round and dimpled, Dewy with childish sleep, She tucks in her other darlings, Whom angels watch and keep. Ah, if a darker angel Anear this treasure creep! Bless thee, beautiful mother, Thy heart hath a place for all— 12 i SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Room for the joys and sorrows, However fast they fall; Room for the baby small, That may love thee better than all. Margaret E. Sangster. Zty &>totttz$t JJOlaee A meadow for the little lambs, A honey hive for bees, And pretty nests for singing birds Among the leafy trees: There's rest for all the little ones In one place or another; But who has half so sweet a place, As baby with her mother ? The little chickens cuddle close, Beneath the old hen's wing; "Peep! we're not afraid," they say, "Of dark or anything." So, safe and sound they nestle there, The one beside the other; But safer, happier, by far, Is baby with her mother. 13 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Lord, who ordainest for mankind Benignant toil and tender cares, We thank Thee for the ties that bind The mother to the child she bears. We thank Thee for the hopes that rise Within her heart, as day by day The dawning soul from those young eyes Looks with a clearer, steadier ray. And grateful for the blessing given, With that dear infant on her knee, She trains the eye to look to heaven, The voice to lisp a prayer to Thee. Such thanks the blessed Mary gave When from her lap the Holy Child, Sent from on high to seek and save The lost of earth, looked up and smiled. All Gracious, grant to those that bear A mother's charge, the strength and light To lead the steps that own their care In ways of Love, and Truth, and Eight. William Cullen Bryant. 14 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD tty $omt spotter Sleep, little one ! Again I feel the thrill A babe's soft hand can in my breast awaken. Hide in my bosom, thou art not forsaken ; Sleep, little one! thou hast a mother still. My lips I press to thy sweet brow anew, Sleep, little one! I am thy mother, too. Mine to protect, to cherish, and to rear; Why should the baby hand, the flaxen hair, Set me a-dreaming of a bygone care, And make a far-off sorrow seem so near? Wake, little one ! Too much am I beguiled ; Too near, too close, the little hands are wrestling, Too soft, too warm, the little head is nestling, For I am not thy mother, my child ! Wake, little one, thy mouth too sweetly smiled, For I am not thy mother, O my child ! Yet do not wake,— sleep on,— full well I know God, in my heart maternal love renewing, Intendeth not for my poor heart's undoing, Nor builds again a joy to lay it low. Sleep, little one ! 'Tis sweet to feel the thrill A babe 's soft hand can in my breast awaken. Hide in my bosom, thou are not forsaken; Sleep, little one ! I am thy mother still. Edwin E, Keen. 15 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD W^t faking of tfce Sputftc "Make us a song, mother dear! Sweet to think of, and sweet to sing," Said the little daughter and little son; Their lips were gay, and their eyes were clear— 1 ' And let the song be an easy one, Sweet to think of, and sweet to sing." 1 ' Sweet to think of, and sweet to hear ? How shall I make it, children dear? The night is falling, the winds are rough ; What will you give me to make it of?" "No, mother dear, the winds are soft, And the sky is blue and clear aloft, And oh! we can give you things enough To make the beautiful music of. "We will give you the morning and afternoon, We will give you the sun and a white full moon You shall have all our prettiest toys, And fields and flowers, and girls and boys. "We will give you a bird, and a ship at sea, And a golden cloud, and an almond-tree, A picture gay, a river that runs, A chime of bells, and hot cross-buns. "You may have roses and rubies rare, And silks and satins beyond compare, 16 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD A sceptre and crown, a queen, a king, And beautiful dreams, and everything! We will give you all that we think or know — The song will be sweet if you make it so. " Then the mother smiled as she began To make the music; and sweet it ran, And easy enough, for a strain or two; And the children said, "Mother, the song will do!" But soon the melody ran less clear; There came a pause, and a wandering tear, And a thought that went back many a year; And the children fancied the music long, And asked, "What have you put into the song That we did not tell you, mother dear?" W. B. Bands. Sunlight I woke in the night, and tossing there, To me the world was full of care. Now away with such repining! — Daybreak's come, the sun is shining: My little daughter, laughing here Has filled the world with brightest cheer ! Francis Sterne Palmer. 17 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD spotfjer's £>ong Don't grow old too fast, my sweet; Stay a little while In this pleasant babyland Sunned by mother's smile. Grasp not with thy dimpled hands At the world outside; They are still too rosy soft; Life, too cold and wide. Be not wistful, sweet blue eyes ; Find your rest in mine, Which thro ' life shall watchful be To keep all tears from thine. Be not restless, little feet ; Lie within my hand; Far too round these tiny soles Yet to try to stand. For a while be mine alone, So helpless and so dear; By and by thou must go forth, But now, sweet, slumber here. 18 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD # SPitutirt fting&om My little girl is solemn for her years, Her eyes, a tender blue, Look at me often through a mist of tears, Sweeter than morning dew; No need has she to sue By word of mouth for any good she craves, For I confess my judgment she enslaves, And, loving her so well, without demur Half of my kingdom I bestow on her. My little boy's of quite another sort, A merry, laughing sprite, Ready for any frolic, full of sport And infantile delight From morning until night. His voice is full of soft, caressing tones; It seems as if Love's armory he owns, And overcome by such an archer slim, Half of my kingdom I bestow on him. I have no moneyed wealth, nor do I own A single rood of earth; A loving heart my treasure is alone, And who can tell its worth? Without a sordid thought it freely gives Its gold and silver, and more nobly lives ; For Love 's fair kingdom widens in extent Only when thus its revenue is spent. Josephine Pollard. 19 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Child-heart! Wild heart! What can I bring you, What can I sing yon, You who have come from a glory afar, Called into Time from a secret star ? Fleet one! Sweet one! Whose was the wild hand Shaped you in child-land, Framing the flesh with a flash of desire, Pouring the soul as a fearful fire? Strong child! Song child! Who can unravel All your long travel Out of the mystery, birth after birth— Out of the dim worlds, deeper than Earth? Mad thing! Glad thing ! How will Life tame you ? How will God name you? All that I know is that you are to me Wind over water, star over sea. 20 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Dear heart! Near heart! Long is the journey, Hard is the tourney, Would I could be by your side when you fall — Would that my own heart could suffer it all! Edwin Markham. W$t spotijer'tf ^Inspiration Had I no little feet to guide Along life's toilsome way, My own more frequently might slide, More often go astray. But when I meet my baby's eyes, At God's own bar I stand, And angels draw me toward the skies, While baby holds my hand. £0y Cljila W&t Crying from J^er £>\ztp My child woke crying from her sleep. I bended o'er her bed And soothed her till in slumber deep She from the darkness fled. And as beside my child I stood, A still voice said to me, 1 ' Even thus thy Father, strong and good, Is bending over thee." George Macdonald. 21 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD prophecy Upon his wooden hobby horse He galloped to the fray, The sunlight in his ruffled curls, His laughter ringing gay. And she who watched that reckless ride Across the nursery floor, And smiled upon the paper hat And the wooden sword he wore, Yet saw through mist of sudden tears A vision strange and new — Her little lad a soldier grown, The prophecy come true. Years after, when the play was real, And through the crowded square Brave men to battle marched away Amid the trumpet's blare, One watched with all a mother's pride Their captain strong and tall; Yet, as she looked with loving eyes, The pageant faded all. She only saw a fair-haired child Who galloped to the war Upon his wooden hobby horse Across the nursery floor. 22 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Wtytt'$ tty Bab]? Oh, dear, where is the baby gone ? I can't tell when I missed him; Why, only last night in his crib I tucked him safe and kissed him. This boy with marbles, top and ball, In knickerbockers dressed, This cannot be the baby small I cradled on my breast. I want the weenty-teenty thing In dresses soft and white, That I could cuddle, kiss and sing Soft by-lows to at night. But stay — here are the self -same eyes, His very dimpled chin, These are his rosy pouting lips With milk-white teeth within. This is my baby — but how changed! I hear his merry shout As he goes sliding down the stair And dancing in and out; Splashing and dashing through the brook With brow and cheek of tan. Heighho, my baby's gone; instead I see — a little man. Ah, well, when evening comes again With sleep and story time, 23 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD A little white-gowned form will come, Into my lap to climb; His wee head cradled on my heart Will still this yearning pain. Oh then I'll know that I have found My baby-boy again. Alice W. Brotherton. tyy Cfcil&rtn What nse to me the gold and silver hoard? What use to me the gems most rich and rare? Brighter by far— ay! bright beyond compare— The joys my children to my heart afford. Yamagami no Okura. (700-750 A. D.) 24 II evening ^onsjs after g>un$et One tremulous star above the deepening west; The splash of waves upon a quiet beach; A sleepy twitter from some hidden nest Amidst the clustered ivy, out of reach. The sheep -bell's tinkle from the daisied leas; The rhythmic fall of homeward- wending feet ; A wind that croons amongst the leafy trees, And dies away in whispers faint and sweet. A pale young moon, whose slender silver bow Creeps slowly up beyond the purple hill ; And seems to absorb the golden afterglow Within the far horizon lingering still. An open lattice and the scent of musk; Then, through the slumbrous hush of earth and sky, A tender mother voice that in the dusk Sings to a babe some old-world lullaby. E. Matheson. 27 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD SL Mttlt Abetting ^iotmtep From Rockaway to Pillowtown, in snowy white arrayed, At seven every evening there's a little journey made; And the fire on shore is burning as the vessel sails away, And the crew is singing softly as we drift adown the bay. Singing of "Cock Robin" gay, Singing of "Bo-peep"— Sailing out of Rockaway To the shores of sleep — Dropping down to Pillowtown, Peacefully we glide Down the bay at close of day- Drifting with the tide. The fire behind grows fainter and the crew is singing low, Through drowsy mist I dimly see a welcome land I know — The purple shores of slumber, where we lay aside all care, For the blessed bud of childhood finds eternal blossom there. And eager for those sunlit shores, all clad in snowy white, A little couple that I know go sailing every night. From Rockaway the vessel starts, about the hour of seven For that fair town of Pillows, lying just this side of Heaven. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Sailing down the quiet bay, Singing as we go — Swinging out at close of day, To the songs we know, Dropping down to Pillowtown, Peacefully we glide Down the bay of Rockaway — Drifting with the tide. 2Lullab£ Rock-a-bye, hush-a-bye, baby, my sweet, Pink little fingers and pink little feet, Soft is your pillow, your cradle is white, Rock-a-bye, hush-a-bye, baby, good-night! Rock-a-bye, hush-a-bye, hush and be strong, Life is a journey, the pathway is long; Soon must the baby feet up and away — Rest, little pilgrim, oh, rest while you may. Drop the white curtains with fringes of brown, This is the way into dim Slumbertown, Six misty bridges that melt as we pass, And street after street that is waving with grass. Rock-a-bye, hush-a-bye, baby is gone Wandering far, till the peep of the dawn. Soft every footstep that passes the sill ! Smile and be dumb, when the cradle hangs still ! James Buckham. 29 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD fylttPi 315ab£, g>ieep Sleep, baby, sleep; Thy father tends the sheep ; Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree, A little dream falls down on thee. Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep; The large stars are the sheep; The little stars are the lambs, I guess; And the gentle moon is the shepherdess. Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep; Our Savior loves His sheep; He is the Lamb of God on high, Who for our sakes came down to die. Sleep, baby, sleep. Elizabeth Prentiss. spotters? iLuilabte* There is a lullaby that mothers croon To little children warm upon their breast; I cannot fashion you its words or tune, Yet know of all sweet songs 'tis tenderest. It hath not mode or limit of a note, 'Tis vague, elusive, as the strains we catch Sometimes in dreams, from far angelic throat, When Heaven's golden gate is on the latch. 30 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 'Tis something sweet— mysterious too, in half — And far too rare for common lips to keep ; The heart of song this side a mother 's laugh, Wherewith she lulls a little one to sleep. 'Tis ever new, yet old as time in part — The long years' cradle song — and tired eyes, And drowsy little heads against the heart Know well the love charm of those lullabies. Alice Ormes. W$z Cottager to fytt infant The days are cold, the nights are long, The north-wind sings a doleful song ; Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty Love. The kitten sleeps upon the hearth, The crickets long have ceased their mirth ; There's nothing stirring in the house Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse — Then why so busy thou ? Nay, start not at that sparkling light ; 'Tis but the moon that shines so bright On the window pane be-dropped with rain ; Then, little Darling, sleep again — And wake when it is day. Dorothy Wordsworth. 31 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Z\)t JUttle tfotom Wm God send the little golden bees of sleep To murmur in the blossom of your ear Their gentle summer music husht and deep, Their softest slumber songs to you, my dear. Irene Putnam. Sway to and fro in the twilight gray; This is the ferry to Shadow-town. It always sails at the end of the day, Just as the darkness is coming down. Kest, little head, on my shoulder, so— A sleepy kiss is the only fare; Drifting away from the world we go, Baby and I in the rocking-chair. See where the fire-logs glow and spark, Glitter the lights of the shadow-land ; The winter rains on the window,— hark— Are ripples lapping upon its strand. Rock slow, more slow, in the dusky light, Silently lower the anchor down; Dear little passenger, say "Good-night,"— We have reached the harbor of Shadow-Town. Lillian Dynevor Rice. 32 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD JLullabp Slumber, slumber, little one, now The bird is asleep in his nest on the bough ; The bird is asleep, he has folded his wings, And over him softly the dream fairy sings: Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby, Pearls in the deep — Stars in the sky, Dreams in our sleep; So lullaby. Slumber, slumber, little one, soon The fairy will come in the ship of the moon ; The fairy will come with the pearls and the stars, And dreams will come singing through shadowy bars : Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby, Pearls in the deep — Stars in the sky, Dreams in our sleep; So lullaby. Slumber, slumber, little one, so; The stars and the pearls and the dream-fairies know ; The stars are the pearls, and the bird in the nest, A dear little fellow the fairies love best; Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby, Pearls in the deep — Stars in the sky, Dreams in our sleep; So lullaby. Frank Dempster Sherman. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Cra&le g>ong Ere the moon begins to rise Or a star to shine, All the bluebells close their eyes — So close thine; Thine, dear, thine! Birds are sleeping in the nest, On the swaying bough, Thus against the mother-breast, So sleep thou, Sleep, sleep, sleep ! Thomas Bailey Aldrich. tyotytti spoon ana g>targ The moon is bending o'er the sea, As I, my babe, bend over thee; She rocks it gently to and fro, As now I rock thee — so, and so; The wind, her breath, sings softly, "Dear, Sleep sweetly now, for I am near." The stars look down upon the lea, As I, my babe, look down on thee ; The earth's at rest; they vigil keep, As I watch o'er thy peaceful sleep, And through the silence I can hear, "Sleep sweetly now, for we are near." William S. Lord. 34 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD CraDle £>ong Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed, Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Soft and easy is thy cradle; Coarse and hard thy Savior lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed was hay. See the kindly shepherds round Him, Telling wonders from the sky; "Where they sought Him, there they found Him, With His virgin Mother by. See the lovely babe addressing: Lovely infant, how He smiled. When He wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hushed the Holy Child. Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the horned oxen fed; Peace, my darling, here's no danger; Here's no ox anear thy bed. Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face and sing His praise. Isaac Watts 35 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD a Rummer ilullabp The sun has gone from the shining skies, Bye, baby, bye; The dandelions have closed their eyes, Bye, baby, bye; And the stars are lighting their lamps to see If the babies and squirrels and birds, all three, Are sound asleep, as they ought to be, Bye, baby, bye. The squirrel is dressed in a coat of gray, Bye, baby, bye; He wears it by night as well as by day, Bye, baby, bye; The robin sleeps in his feathers and down, With his warm red breast and his wings of brown, But the baby wears a little white gown, Bye, baby, bye. The squirrel's nest is a hole in a tree, Bye, baby, bye; And there he sleeps as snug as can be; Bye, baby, bye; The robin's nest is high overhead, Where the leafy boughs of the maple spread, But the baby's nest is a little white bed, Bye, baby, bye. Eudora S. Bumstead. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD g>toet)tel) spottier'^ JLullabE There sitteth a dove so fair and white All on the lily spray, And she listeneth how to the Savior above The little children pray. Lightly she spreads her friendly wings, And to heaven's gate hath sped, And unto the Father in heaven she bears The prayers the children have said. And back she comes from heaven's gate, And brings — that dove is so mild — From the Father in heaven, who hears her speak, A blessing for every child. ilullabE Now roof and rafters blend with the starry vault on high — Now flieth little Hakon * on dream wings through the sky. There mounts a mighty stairway from earth to God's own land; There Hakon with the angels goes climbing hand in hand. God's angel babes are watching thy cot the still night through — God bless thee, little Hakon, thy mother watches too. ♦Hakon, babe. Eenrik Ibsen. 37 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD W$t Wty to £>leep£toton Which is the way to Sleepytown? Look in the blinking eyes of brown, Or you may find the misty track Hid in the half -closed eyes of black; Winding about and in and through The slumbrous eyes of dreamy blue, Or stealing across the eyes of gray,— Oh, there you may find the drowsy way. Follow along the crooked street, Twisting about two tired feet- Feet that the whole day through have trod Paths that led to the Land of Nod ; Keep on going until you come To weary fingers and weary thumb, Or the lips within whose gates of pearl Is the languid tongue of a boy or girl. The paths you seek may lead, mayhap, Into the peace of a downy lap, Where angels have sprinkled the dews of rest In a gracious cradle of arms and breast. Further along and the way has led To the calm of a prayer-encircled bed, Where mother is kissing the eyelids down, And that is the way to Sleepytown. Nixon Waterman. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD to a Sleeping Cljilu Lips, lips, open! Up comes a little bird that lives inside — Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out be flies. All the day be sits inside, and sometimes be sings, Up be comes, and out be goes at night, to spread his wings. Little bird, little bird, whither will you go ? Round about the world, while nobody can know. Little bird, little bird, whither can you flee? Far away around the world, while nobody can see. Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam? All around the world, and around again home ; Round the round world, and back through the air, When the morning comes, the little bird is there. Back comes the little bird, and looks, and in he flies, Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes. Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird's away; Little bird will come again by the peep of day. Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go Round about the world, while nobody can know. Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round, Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound. Arthur Hugh Clough. 39 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD &i$8y $$ot\)tt £>ong Gold aglow on the gorse, And kindly purple over the heather; And lilies on the river's course Lifting their silver cups together. Lullaby and hushaby! The wayfaring day is o'er; Thou and I, together we lie, In the House of the Open Door. But for thee and for me, my child, Wandering folk and poor, There is treasure untold on meadow and moor When the wind blows wild. Gold aflame on the corn, And queenly crimson deep in the heather ; And diamonds of the dew at morn Flashing their rainbow drops together. Lullaby and hushaby! The wayfaring day is o'er; Thou and I, together we lie, In the House of the Open Door. But for thee and for me, my child, Wandering folk and poor, There are jewels of price on meadow and moor When the wind blows wild. Gold alight in the sky, And royal red in the heart of the heather ; 40 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD And all the night the stars go by, Waving their silver swords together. Lullaby and hushaby! The wayfaring day is o'er; Thou and I, together we lie, In the House of the Open Door. But for thee and for me, my child, Wandering folk and poor, There are dreams of delight on meadow and moor. When the wind blows wild. May Byron. tLullabp of an 3f[nfant Ctitef Oh, hush thee, my baby, thy sire is a Knight, Thy mother a Lady both lovely and bright ; The woods and the glens from the tower which we see, They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, It calls but the warders who guard thy repose; Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red Ere the step of a foeman draw near to thy bed. Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; Then hush thee, my darling, take sleep while you may — For strife comes with manhood and waking with day. Walter Scott. 41 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD ifirtei) iUtllabp I'd rock my own sweet child to rest In a cradle of gold on a bough of the willow, To the shoheen-ho of the wind of the west, And the lulla-lo of the soft sea billow. Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother is here beside your pillow. I'd put my own sweet childie to sleep In a silver boat on the beautiful river, "Where a shoheen whisper the white cascades, And a lulla-lo the green flags shiver. Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother is here with you forever. Lulla-lo, to the rise and fall Of mother's bosom 'tis sleep has bound you, And oh, my child, what cosier nest For rosier rest could love have found you? Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother's two arms are clasped around you. Alfred Percival Graves. 42 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Si plantation ilullabp By-o, by-lo, mah li '1 baby ! Shet yuh eyes, so blue an' bright, Fuh de evenin's wropped 'er cuht'n Roun' de sun, ter hide de light. In de sky de styahs 're twinklin ' ; An' de shadders 'gin ter creep Roun' ol' mammy an' huh li'l lam'. By-o, by-lo, sof 'ly sleep ! Dream ontwell de rosy mawnin' Back'ard maks de cuht'n roll, An' sen's de li'l smilin' sunbeams Playin' thoo yuh cyuhls o' gol'. All de buhds hev stop deih twitt'rin', Lay yuh head on mammy's breas', Fuh de flowahs low 're noddin', By-o, by-lo, tek yuh res'! By-o, by-lo, mah li'l baby! Deah Lawd, let de angels bright Keep fom hahm dis preshus li'l chile Thoo de dahk hours o' de night! Emma C. Dulaney. 43 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD !lullabE The wind whistled loud at the window-pane — Go away, wind, and let me sleep ! Ruffle the green grass' billowy plain, Ruffle the billowy deep! ' ' Hush-a-bye, hush ! the wind is fled, The wind cannot ruffle the soft smooth bed,— Hush thee, darling, sleep ! ' ' The ivy tapped at the window-pane — Silence, ivy, and let me sleep ! Why do you patter like drops of rain, And then play creepity-creep ? " Hush-a-bye, hush! the leaves shall lie still, The moon is walking over the hill,— Hush thee, darling, sleep ! ' ' A dream-show rode in on a moonbeam white— Go away, dreams, and let me sleep ! The show may be gay and golden bright, But I do not care to peep. 1 ' Hush-a-bye, hush ! the dream is fled, A shining angel guards the bed,— Hush thee, darling, sleep!" W. B. Rands. 44 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD CraDle g>ong In the winged cradle of sleep I lay My darling gently down; Kissed and closed are his eyes of gray, Under his curls' bright crown. Where, oh where, will he fly and float In the winged cradle of sleep? Whom will he meet in the worlds remote, While he slumbers soft and deep? Warm and sweet as a white blush rose, His small hand lies in mine; But I cannot follow him where he goes, And he gives no word nor sign. Keep him safe, ye heavenly powers, In dreamland vast and dim; Let no ill, through the night's long hours, Come nigh to trouble him. Give him back when the dawn shall break, With his matchless baby charms, With his love and his beauty all awake, Into my happy arms. Celia Thaxter. 45 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD a Ctjrtetmaa ILullabp Where does my baby lay his head When the fire burns low And his eyes droop so, And mother dear sings to him soft and slow ? In the flickering firelight, warm and red, He sleeps in his own little cradle bed. Where does the Christ child lay His head While the small gray sheep And the oxen sleep, And Mary sits watching His slumber deep? No pillow has He, but the hay instead; In Bethlehem's manger, His lowly bed. Lullaby, hushaby, soft and slow, The Angels of God wing to and fro. Two little babies they bend to see — One with Mary and one with me. Carolyn S. Bailey. It is dark, the night is come, And the world is hushed and dumb; Sleep, my darling; God is here! — "Shall I see Him, mother dear?" It is day, the sun is bright, And the world is laid in light; 46 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD "Wake, my darling; God is here! — 1 'Shall I see Him, mother dear?" Not the day's awakening light, Babe, can show thee God aright ; Not the dark, that brings thee sleep, Him can from my darling keep. Day and night are His to fill; We are His to do His will; Do His will, and, never fear, Thou shalt see Him, baby dear. W. B. Bands. ®lb Gaelic ilullab^ Hush! the waves are rolling in, "White with foam, white with foam; Father toils amid the din, But baby sleeps at home. Hush! the wind roars hoarse and deep— On they come, on they come ! Brother seeks the wandering sheep; But baby sleeps at home. Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes, Where they roam, where they roam ; Sister goes to seek the cows, But baby sleeps at home. 47 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD $$y tlittle &it\ My little girl is nested Within her tiny bed, With amber ringlets crested Around her dainty head — She lies so calm and stilly, She breathes so soft and low, She calls to mind a lily Half-hidden in the snow. A weary little mortal Has gone to Slumberland; The Pixies at the portal Have caught her by the hand She dreams her broken dolly Will soon be mended there, That looks so melancholy Upon the rocking-chair. I kiss your wayward tresses, My drowsy little queen; I know yon have caresses From floating forms unseen. Angels, let me keep her To kiss away my cares — This darling little sleeper Who has my love and prayers. Samuel Minium Peck. 48 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD f&ty Cra&le gwtg There 's a baby moon rocking far up in the sky, And the night wind is blowing a soft lullaby; And down, away down, in a mossy lined nest, Are five little birdies 'neath mother's warm breast. hushaby, little one., sleep. Enfolded in arms that a loving hold keep, Another wee baby is rocking to sleep; A soft golden head presses close to my heart, And darkly fringed eyelids just drowsily part — hushaby, little one, sleep. The tiny star candles are lighting the way For birdies and elves that to Sleepytown stray, But my baby's stars are his mother's brown eyes, That lovelight his pathway as to dreamland he hies. hushaby, little one, sleep. The silver moon-baby sinks low in the west, The chirping is hushed in the little brown nest ; And swinging and swaying, with eyes closing fast, My little one crosses the border at last. hush thee, my little one, sleep. Pauline Frances Camp. 49 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Wt #11 jpetf) ILuliabtesf We all need lullabies, To hush our cries and sighs; God, gentle-hearted, knows Our weary list of woes, And sends his tenderest songs Tuned to life's needs and wrongs. Heaven's mother-songs for me Are like infinity — Unfailing, limitless, Great with my God's caress, Songs in the night they are, Heard best in fret and jar. They sing to my soul's woe, Soothing, all soft and slow, To-night a lullaby — Sweet, like an angel's sigh; Songs full and pure, for me A mother-melody. From out the unhusked corn, All frayed and torn and worn, Comes comfort sure and true, Through proud plumes bowed with dew The wind sings pityingly— It is God's voice to me. Hush, hush, my child, and rest; Come to my waiting breast; 50 BONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Lie there, tired head, and sleep! Hush, hush, oh, no more weep — God 's love thy life will keep ! Hush, hush, my child, and sleep. Mary Rollins Murphy. iiuwm Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea; Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea. Over the rolling waters go; Come from the dying moon and blow, Blow him again to me; WTiile my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest; Father will come to thee soon. Rest, rest, on mother's breast; Father will come to thee soon. Father will come to his babe in the nest; Silver sails all out of the west, Under the silver moon; Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. Alfred Tennyson. 51 £>ong SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Sleep, my darling, sleep, Safe folded are the sheep, The faint stars lie in the quiet sky, The soft wind croons thy lullaby ; The leaves upon the linden tree Are whispering tenderly to thee, And close at hand lies Slumberland, sleep, my darling, sleep. Wake, my darling, wake, The sunbeams kiss the lake; The seagulls fly to the eastern sky, The happy ships are sailing by; The birds upon the linden tree Are calling merrily to thee; The whole glad earth is rimmed with mirth, O wake, my darling, wake! C. Kathleen Carman. 52 Ill #t jptg&t The sky is dark and dark the bay below Save where the midnight city's pallid glow Lies like a lily white On the black pool of night. O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way Across the swirling kills and gusty bay, To where the eddying tide Strikes hard the city's side. For there, between the river and the sea Beneath that glow, — the lily's heart to me,— A sleeping mother mild, And by her breast a child. Richard Watson Gilder. 55 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD t\z Welcome Anither bairn cam , hame Hame to mither and me! It was yestreen in the gloamin'— When scarce was a light to see The wee bit face o' the darlin'— That its greetin' cry was heard And crowdin' close we made a place To haud anither bird! Sax little bonnie mouths Ah me ! tak ' muckle to fill, But to grudge the bit t' the seventh For mither and me were ill ! Oh ! nestle up closer, dearie, Lie saft on the snawy breast, "Where fast life's fountain floweth When the twa warm lips are prest. The rich man counteth his cares By the shinin' gowd in 's hand, By 's ships that sail on the sea, By 's harvests that whiten the land The puir man counteth his blessings By the ring o' voices sweet, By the hope that glints in bairnies' een, By the sound o' bairnies' feet. 56 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD An' it's welcome hame, my darlin'! Hame to mither an' me! An' it's never may ye find less o' love Than the love ye brought wi' ye! Cauld are the blasts o' the wild wind And rough the world may be, But warm's the hame o' the wee one In the hearts o' mither an' me! Margaret E. Sangster. iUttfc UMl By her snow-white cot at close of day, Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray: Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear. "What good child is this," the angel said, "That, with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly?" Low and soft, oh ! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, "Bell, dear Bell!" crooned he. "Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, ' l God doth bless with angels ' care ; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind, Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind, Little Bell, for thee." Thomas Westwood. 57 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD fyixty ana &fr Joy of the morning, Darling of dawning, Blithe little, lithe little daughter of mine, While with thee ranging, Sure I'm exchanging Sixty of my years for six years like thine. Wings cannot vie with thee, Lightly I fly with thee, Gay as the thistledown over the lea; Life is all magic, Comic or tragic, Played as thou playest it daily with me. Floating and ringing, Thy merry singing Comes when the light comes, like that of the birds. List to the play of it,— That is the way of it; All's in the music and naught in the words. Glad or grief-laden, Schubert or Haydn, Ballad of Erin or merry Scotch lay; Like an evangel Some baby angel Brought from sky-nursery, stealing away. Surely I know it, Artist nor poet 58 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Guesses my treasure of jubilant hours. Sorrows, what are they? Nearer or far, they Vanish in sunshine, like dew from the flowers. Years, I am glad of them. Would that I had of them More and yet more, while thus mingled with thine ! Age, I make light of it, Fear not the sight of it; Time's but our playmate, whose toys are divine. Thomas Wentworth Higginson. My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes And moved and spoke in quiet, grown-up wise, Having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I punished him, and so dismissed With hard words and unkissed, — His mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, But found him slumbering deep, With darkened eyelids, and their lashes yet From his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, Kissing away his tears, left others of my own ; For, on a table, drawn beside his head, He had put, within his reach, A box of counters and a red- veined stone, 59 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD A piece of glass abraded by the beach And six or seven shells, A bottle with bluebells, And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art, To comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed To God, I wept and said: Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath, Not vexing Thee in death, And Thou rememberest of what toys We made our joys, How weakly understood Thy great commanded good, Then, fatherly not less Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay, Thou 'It leave Thy wrath, and say, "I will be sorry for their childishness. ' ' Coventry Patmore. iltttle ^amma Why is it the children don't love me As they do mamma % That they put her ever above me, "Little mamma"? I'm sure I do all that I can do. What more can a rather big man do, Who can't be mamma — 60 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Little mamma? Any game that the tyrants suggest, "Logomachy"— which I detest, — Doll-babies, hop-scotch or base-ball, I'm always on hand at the call. When Noah and the others embark I'm the elephant saved in the ark. I creep and I climb and I crawl — By turns am the animals all. For the show on the stair I'm always the bear, Chimpanzee, camel or kangaroo. It's never " Mamma- Little mamma — Won't you? " My umbrella's the pony, if any; None ride on mamma's parasol. I 'm supposed to have always the penny For bonbons and beggars and all. My room is the one where they clatter— Am I reading or writing, what matter? My knee is the one for a trot, My foot is the stirrup for Dot. If his fractions get into a snarl Who straightens the tangles for Karl? Who bounds Massachusetts and Maine? And tries to bound flimsy old Spain ? 61 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Why, It is I, Papa,— Not little mamma. That the youngsters are ingrates don't say, I think they love me in a way, As one does the old clock on the stair — Any curious, cumbrous affair That one's used to having about, And would feel rather lonely without. I think that they love me, I say, In a sort of a tolerant way ; But it's plain that papa Isn't little mamma. Thus when shadows come stealing anear, And things in the firelight look queer ; When shadows the playroom enwrap, They never climb into my lap And toy with my head, smooth and bare, As they do with mamma's shining hair ; Nor feel round my throat and my chin For dimples to put fingers in; Nor lock my neck in a loving vise And say they're "mousies" — that's mice — And will nibble my ears, Will nibble and bite With their little mice-teeth, so sharp and so white, SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD If I do not kiss them this very minute — Don 't- wait-a-bit-but-at-once-begin-it, — Dear little papa. That's what they say and do to mamma. If, mildly hinting, I quietly say that Kissing 's a game that more can play at, They turn up at once their innocent eyes And I suddenly learn to my great surprise That my face has prickles— My mustache tickles. If storming their camp I seize a pert shaver, And take as a right what was asked as a favor, It is "0 papa, How horrid you are, You taste exactly like a cigar." But tho' the rebels protest and pout, And make a pretense of driving me out, I hold, after all, the main redoubt — Not by force of arms nor by force of will, But the power of love which is mightier still. And very deep in their hearts I know, Under the saucy and petulant "Oh," The doubtful "Yes" or the naughty "No, ; They love papa. And down in the heart that no one sees, Where I hold my feasts and my jubilees, I know that I would not abate one jot, Of the love that is held by my little Dot, SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Or my great big boy for their little mamma, Though out in the cold it crowded papa. I would not abate it the tiniest whit, And I am not jealous the least little bit; For I'll tell you a secret, come my dears, And I'll whisper it right-into-your-ears— • I, too, love mamma, Little mamma. Charles Henry Webb. tfyt 315ab£ Like a tiny glint of light piercing through the dusky gloom, Comes her little laughing face through the shadows of my room. And my pen forgets its way as it hears her pattering tread, While her prattling treble tones chase the thoughts from out my head. She is queen and I her slave, one who loves her and obeys ; For she rules her world of home with imperious baby ways. In she dances, calls me "Dear!" turns the pages of my books, Thrones herself upon my knee, takes my pen with laugh- ing looks. Makes disorder reign supreme, turns my papers upside down, 64 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Draws me cabalistic signs, safe from fear of any frown. Crumples all my verses up, pleased to hear the crackling sound ; Makes them into balls and then— flings them all upon the ground. Suddenly she flits away, leaving me alone again With a warmth about my heart, and a brighter, clearer brain. And although the thoughts return, that her coming drove away, The remembrance of her laugh lingers with me thro' the day. And it chances as I write, I may take a crumpled sheet, On the which, God knoweth why ! read my fancies twice as sweet. Victor Hugo. WW tyt Ciiitorm g>a£ When in the dusk of evening I come to where I see Three little faces at the window looking down at me, And hear the shout of "Papa" and the sound of scam- pering feet, And find myself a prisoner ere I can beat retreat, The robbers seize my parcels and search my pockets through, And bear me to their castle spite of all that I can do. 65 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD There the queen of these bandits gently chides their boist'rous glee, And asks how many kisses it will take to ransom me. Oh, is there any pleasure in all the busy day That's quite as sweet as listening to what the children say? Helen thinks a hundred kisses are enough to ransom me, If I'll change them all for pennies bright as soon as I am free ; While Henry claims that "Papa is more valuable than that," And so the rascal confiscates my overcoat and hat. But tender-hearted Josephine makes terms for my re- lease ; "We'll let you go, dear papa, for just one kiss apiece." When I've paid my ransom duly, this valiant robber band Escorts me to the table, with a guard on either hand. There for a blessed hour I fling my cares away And grow younger as I listen to what the children say. From my prison in the study, I detect them stealing by, Till they think they're out of hearing, then with shouts away they fly, All about the house they frolic— now below, now over- head. Little chance I'll have for study 'till they're snugly tucked in bed. But at last there comes a silence, and I tiptoe out to see Three little sober faces clustered at mother 's knee. 66 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Their prayer, " Please bless dear papa" never fails to put to rout Every skeptical opinion or philosophic doubt. When the world looks cold and cheerless, and heaven seems far away Just stop, my friend, and listen to what the children say. Thomas C. Roney. W$t jftat g>tep My little one begins his feet to try, A tottering, feeble, inconsistent way ; Pleased with the effort, he forgets his play, And leaves his infant baubles where they lie. Laughing and proud, his mother flutters nigh, Turning to go, yet joy-compelled to stay And, bird-like, singing what her heart would say; But not so certain of my bliss am I. For I bethink me of the days in store Wherein those feet must traverse realms unknown, And half forget the pathway to our door. And I recall that in the seasons flown We were his all — as he was all our own — But never can be quite so any more. Andrew Bice Saztow. 67 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD tftotoen tm&to aoelafoe Sing, I pray, a litle song, Mother dear, Neither sad nor very long; It is for a little maid, Golden-tressed Adelaide. Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear, Mother dear. Let it be a merry strain, Mother dear, Shunning e'en the thought of pain, For our gentle child will weep, If the theme be dark or deep ; And we will not draw a single, single tear, Mother dear. Childhood should be all divine, Mother dear. And like endless summer shine ; Gay as Edward's shouts and cries, Bright as Agnes' azure eyes: Therefore bid thy song be merry;— dost thou hear, Mother dear ? Barry Cornwall. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 315abB Where did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into here. Where did you get those eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here What makes your forehead so smooth and high ? A soft hand stroked it as I went by. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? I saw something better than anyone knows. Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Three angels gave me at once a kiss. Where did you get this pearly ear ? God spoke and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into hooks and bands. Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs' wings. How did they all just come to be you ? God thought about me and so I grew. 69 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD How did you come to us, my dear? God thought about you and so I am here. George Macdonald. jfaretodi #t)fcice Farewell, dear child, I have no song to give thee, No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray. But ere we part, one lesson I would leave thee, For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever. Do noble things, not dream them all day long ; And so make life, death, and that vast forever, One grand, sweet song. diaries Kingsley. £foo ^eatoens For there are two heavens, sweet, Both made of love,— one, inconceivable Ev'n by the other, so divine it is; The other, far on this side of the stars, By men called home. Leigh Hunt. 70 IV 3 llittle <£trl If no one ever marries me — And I don't see why they should, For nurse says I'm not pretty, And I'm seldom very good— If no one ever marries me, I shan't mind very much, I shall buy a squirrel in a cage, And a little rabbit-hutch; I shall have a cottage near a wood, And a pony all my own, And a little lamb quite clean and tame, That I can take to town. And when I'm getting really old, At twenty-eight or nine— I shall buy a little orphan girl, And bring her up as mine. Lawrence Alma-Tadema. 73 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD wistym Ring-ting ! I wish I were a primrose, A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring, The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the Elm-tree for our king. Nay-stay ! I wish I were an Elm-tree, A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay. The winds would set them dancing, The sun and moonshine glance in, The birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing. Oh no ! I wish I were a robin, A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go, Through forest, field, or garden, And ask no leave or pardon, Till winter comes with icy thumbs, To ruffle up our wing. Well-tell ! Where should I fly to, Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ? Before a day was over, Here comes the rover, For mother's kiss, sweeter this, Than any other thing. William Allingham. 74 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Wfyt JLamb Ctjito When Christ the Babe was born, Full many a little lamb Upon the wintry hills forlorn Was nestled near its dam; And, waking or asleep, Upon His mother's breast, For love of her, each mother-sheep And baby-lamb He blessed. John B. Taob. ®ut of tije spoutfys of Babes; Little Jesus, wast thou shy Once, and just as small as I? And what did it feel to be Out of heaven and just like me? Didst thou sometimes think of there, And ask where all the angels were? I should think that I would cry For my house all made of sky ; I would look about the air, And wonder where my angels were ; And at waking 'twould distress me — Not an angel there to dress me ! Hadst Thou ever any toys Like us little girls and boys? And didst thou play in heaven with all The angels that were not too tall, 75 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD With stars for marbles? Did the things Play "Can yon see me?" through their wings? And did thy mother let thee spoil Thy robes with playing on onr soil ? How nice to have them always new In heaven because 'twas quite clean blue ! Didst thou kneel at night to pray, And didst thou join thy hands this way ? And didst thou tire sometimes, being young, And make the prayer seem very long? And did thy mother at the night, Kiss thee and fold the clothes in right ? And didst thou feel quite good in bed, Kist, and sweet and thy prayers said ? Thou canst not have forgotten all That it feels like to be small. And thou knowest I cannot pray To Thee in my father's way — When thou wast so little, say Couldst thou talk thy Father's way? Francis Thompson. Solomon ana spamma Solomon says in words so mild, "Spare the rod and spoil the child.' ' My mamma thinks as well as he, A little whipping's good for me. 76 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD a iLittle llau'sf 0nsfoer Our little lad came in one day With dusty shoes and tired feet; His play time had been hard and long, Out in the summer noontide heat. * ' I 'm glad I 'm home ! ' ' he cried, and hung His torn straw hat up in the hall, While in the corner by the door He put away his bat and ball. "I wonder why," his auntie said, "This little lad comes always here, When there are many other homes As nice as this and quite as near?" He stood a moment deep in thought, Then with a love-light in his eye, He pointed where his mother sat, And said : ' * She lives here ; that is why. ' ' With beaming face the mother heard ; Her mother-heart was very glad. A true, sweet answer he had given,— That thoughtful, loving little lad. And well I know that hosts of lads Are just as loving, true and dear ; That they would answer as he did : " 'Tis home, for mother's living here." 77 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD tty iLittle Boe'S lament I'm goin' back down to gran 'pa's, I won't come back no more To hear remarks about my feet A-muddyin' up the floor. They's too much said about my clothes, The scoldin's never done — I'm goin' back down to gran 'pa's, Where a boy can hev some fun. I dug up half his garden A-gettin' worms fer bait; He said he used to like it When I laid abed so late ; He said that pie was good fer boys An' candy made 'em grow. Ef I cain't go to gran 'pa's, I '11 turn pirate, fust you know. He let me take his shot-gun An ' loaded it fur me. The cats they hid out in the barn, The hens flew up a tree ; I had a circus in the yard With twenty other boys — I'm goin' back down to gran 'pa's, Where they ain't afraid of noise. 78 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD He didn 't make me comb my hair But once or twice a week ; He wasn't watchin' out fer words I didn't orter speak; He told me stories 'bout the war, An' Injuns shot out West, Oh I'm goin' down to gran 'pa's, Fer he knows wot boys like best. He even run a race with me, But had to stop an' cough; He rode my bicycle an ' laughed Bee 'us he tumbled off; He knew the early apple trees Around within a mile, — Oh, gran 'pa was a dandy An' was "in it" all the while. I bet you gran 'pa's lonesome I don't care what you say; I seen him kinder cryin' When you took me away. When you talk to me of heaven Where all the good folks go, I guess I'll go to gran 'pa's, An' we'll have good times, I know. A. T, Warden, 19 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD W$t H5o£ They brought him toys of every kind They could devise or buy, Intended to improve the mind, To please yet train the eye. The boy turned wearily away, And then with might and main Began astride a chair to play, "Whooooo! I'm a choo-choo train.' ' Peter Mc Arthur. tty Zytmt of tlje fyoutt While baby sleeps "We cannot jump, or dance, or sing, Play jolly games or do a thing To make a noise. The floor might creak If we should walk! We scarcely speak Or breathe while baby takes a nap, Lest we should wake the little chap ! A strict watch Nursie always keeps While baby sleeps! When baby wakes But little gratitude he shows, When other people want to doze ! At night, when folks have gone to bed, He rouses them all up instead, To wait on him. Ma lights the lamp. 80 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD And warms milk for the little scamp ! Pa walks him up and down the floor Sometimes two hours and sometimes more ! And nurse comes running, in a stew, To see what she for him can do ! And Will and Harry at the row Call: "What's the matter with him now?" And I'm waked up at all the clatter To wonder what on earth 's the matter ! Such uproar in the house he makes, When baby wakes ! So if asleep or if awake, The house exists but for his sake, And such a tiny fellow — he, To be boss of this family ! Eva Lovett. $ty d5oo& for J^ottjing What are you good for, my brave little man? Answer that question' for me if you can, You with your ringlets as bright as the sun, You with your fingers as white as a nun. All the day long with your busy contriving Into all mischief and fun you are driving. See if your wise little noddle can tell What you are good for, now ponder it well. 81 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Over the carpet the dear little feet Came with a patter to climb on my seat ; Two merry eyes full of frolic and glee Under the lashes looked up unto me ; Two dimpled hands pressing soft on my face, Drew me down close in a loving embrace ; Two rosy lips gave the answer so true, 1 ' Good to love you, mamma, good to love you. ' ' Emily Huntington Miller. jpot a CljtiD "Not a child; I call myself a boy," Says my king with accents stern yet mild, Now nine years have brought him change of joy ; "Not a child." How could reason be so far beguiled, Err so far from senses' safe employ? Stray so far from truth or run so wild ? Seeing his face bent over book or toy, "Child" I called him smilingly; but he smiled Back as one too high for vain annoy — "Not a child." Algernon Charles Swinburne. V jFirtft jfootsteps? A little way, more soft and sweet Than fields aflower with May, A babe's feet, venturing, scarce complete A little way. Eyes full of dawning day Look up for mother's eyes to meet, Too blithe for song to say. Glad as the golden spring to greet Its first live leaflet's play, Love, laughing, leads the little feet A little way. Algernon Charles Swinburne. 85 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD # # # # Behold the child among his new-born blisses, , A six-years ' darling of a pigmy size ! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song : Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love or strife ; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" With all the persons, down to palsied age, That Life brings with her in her equipage ; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. •X* w w tmples Love goes playing hide-and-seek With the roses on her cheek, With a little imp of laughter, Who, the while he follows after, Leaves the footprints that we trace All about the kissing-place. John B. Tail. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD "How many pounds does the baby weigh — Baby who came but a month ago ? How many pounds from the crowning curl To the rosy point of the restless toe?" Grandfather ties the 'kerchief knot, Tenderly guides the swinging weight, And carefully over his glasses peers To read the record, "only eight.' ' Softly the echo goes around, The father laughs at the tiny girl, The fair young mother sings the words, While grandmother smooths the golden curl. And stooping above the precious thing, Nestles a kiss within a prayer, Murmuring softly, "Little one, Grandfather did not weigh you fair." Nobody weighed the baby's smile, Or the love that came with the helpless one, Nobody weighed the threads of care, From which a woman 's life is spun. No index tells the mighty worth Of a little baby's quiet breath — A soft unceasing metronome Patient and faithful unto death. 89 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Nobody weighed the baby's soul, For here on earth no weight there be That could avail, God only knows Its value in eternity. Only eight pounds to hold a soul That seeks no angel's silver wing, But shrines it in this human guise, Within so frail and small a thing! Oh mother, laugh your merry note, Be gay and glad, but don't forget From baby's eyes looks out a soul, That claims a home in Eden yet. Ethelinda Elliott Beers. When the bright sun doth smiling rise, A ruddy ball thro' cloudy skies, The wood and field to him do yield And flower and leaf forget their grief. In childish hearts so springs delight, Chasing black care back into night. Joys like the flowers, in children rise; They smile with tears still in their eyes. *Translated from the French by Blanche Wilder Bellamy. 90 BONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD SL litttle 315lm& C&tl&'s? Entile A child's smile — nothing more; Quiet and soft and grave, and seldom seen ; Like summer lightning o'er, Leaving the little face again serene. I think, boy well-beloved, Thine angel, who did grieve to see how far Thy childhood is removed From sports that dear to other children are, On this pale cheek has thrown The brightness of his countenance, and made A beauty like his own — That, while we see it, we are half afraid, And marvel, will it stay? Or, long ere manhood, will that angel fair, Departing some sad day, Steal the child-smile and leave the shadow care? Nay, fear not. As is given Unto this child the father watching o'er, His angel up in heaven Beholds our Father's face forever more. And He will help him bear His burthen, as his father helps him now; So may he come to wear That happy child-smile on an old man's brow. Dinah Unlock Craih, 91 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD tfyz ifloumet! Only beginning the journey, Many a mile to go, Little feet, how they patter, Wandering to and fro! Trying again so bravely, Laughing in baby glee, Hiding its face in mother's lap, Proud as a babe can be! Talking the oddest language Ever before was heard ! But mother (you'd hardly think so) Understands every word. Tottering now and falling, Eyes are going to cry, Kisses and plenty of love-words; Willing again to try! Standing on feet unsteady ; Working with all its strength! It reaches the mother 's outstretched hands, And rests in her arms at length. Father of all ! oh, guide them The pattering little feet, While they are treading the uphill road, Braving the dust and heat ! 92 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Aid them ever when weary, Keep them in pathways blest ; And when the journey is ended, Father, oh give them rest ! £fje 315abte Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes, Nae stockin' on her feet; Her supple ankles, white as snaw, Or early blossoms sweet. Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink, Her double, dimplit chin, Her puckered lips an' baumy mou', Wi' nae ane tooth within; Her een sae like her mither's een, Twa gentle, liquid things; Her face is like an angel's face— We're glad she has nae wings. She is the buddin' o' our luve, A gif tie God has gied us ; We maun na luve the gift ower weel, 'Twad be nae blessing thus. l ^ We still maun lo 'e the Giver mair, An' see Him in the given; An' sae she'll lead us up to Him — Our babie straight frae Heaven. Jeremiah E. Rankin. SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD WW 31$ tyy !Ltttie ®ne Semiring about Who can tell what a baby thinks ? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the manikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown Blind and wailing and all alone, Into the light of day? Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Tossing in pitiful agony, — Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Specked with the barks of little souls,— Barks that were launched on the other side, And shipped from heaven on an ebbing tide ! What does he think of his mother 's eyes ? What does he think of his mother's hair? What of the cradle roof that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his mother 's breast, — Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, Seeking it ever with fresh delight, — Cup of his life, and couch of his rest? What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart throbs sink and swell With a tenderness she never can tell, Though she murmurs the words Of all the birds- Words she has learned to murmur well? Now he thinks he'll go to sleep ! SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD I can see the shadows creep Over his eyes in soft eclipse, Over his brow and over his lips, Out to the little finger- tips; Softly sinking down he goes! Down he goes ! Down he goes ! See ! He is hushed in sweet repose ! J. G. Holland. g>tOf£ Wimt Go slower, clock, When babies climb The mother's lap At story time. When, waving wands, The fairies walk, And witches scold, And bears can talk, And, best of all, The mother too Is telling what She used to do, No decent clock Would lift its head And say 'twas time To go to bed. Albert Bryant. 95 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD WMimt Three little girls are weary, Weary of books and of play; Sad is the world and dreary, Slowly the time slips away. Six little feet are aching, Bowed is each little head, Yet they are up and shaking, When there is mention of bed. Bravely they laugh and chatter, Just for a minute or two ; Then when they end their clatter, Sleep comes quickly to woo. Slowly their eyes are closing, Down again drops ev'ry head, Three little maids are dozing, Though they're not ready for bed. That is their method ever, Night after night they protest, Claiming they're sleepy never, Never in need of their rest ; Nodding and almost dreaming, Drowsily each little head, Still is forever scheming Merely to keep out of bed. 96 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD He has given up his cradle and his little worsted ball, He has hidden all his dolls behind the door 5 He must have a rocking-horse And a hard wood top, of course, For he isn't mamma's baby any more. He has cut off all his curls — they are only fit for girls — And has left them in a heap upon the floor; For he's six years old to-day, And he's glad to hear them say That he isn't mamma's baby any more! He has pockets in his trousers, like his older brother Jim, Though he thinks he should have had them long before. Has new shoes laced to the top — 'Tis a puzzle where they stop ; And he isn't mamma's baby any more. He has heard his parents sigh and has greatly wondered why They are sorry when he has such bliss in store ; For he's now their darling boy And will be their pride and joy, Though he cannot be their baby any more. Georgiana E. Billings. 97 SONGS OF MOTHER AXD CHILD Z%t Coming £pan A pair of very clmbby legs, Encased in scarlet hose; A pair of little stubby boots, With rather doubtful toes ; A little kilt, a little coat- Cut as a mother can— And lo, before us stands in state The future's ''coming man." His eyes, perchance, will read the stars, And search their unknown ways ; Perchance the human heart and soul Will open to their gaze; Perchance their keen and flashing glance Will be a nation's light — Those eyes that now are wistful bent On some "big fellow's" kite. Those hands, those little busy hands — So sticky, small, and brown; Those hands, whose only mission seems To pull all order down — TTho knows what hidden strength may be Within their tiny clasp, Though now 'tis but a taffy stick In sturdy hold they grasp ? Ah, blessings on those little hands, "Whose work is yet undone, 98 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD And blessings on those little feet, YsTiose race is yet unrun! And blessings on the little brain That has not learned to plan ! Whate'er the future holds in store, God bless the ''coming man." She sat on the porch in the sunshine, As I went down the street — A woman whose hair was silver, But whose face was blossom sweet, Making me think of a garden Where, in spite of the frost and the snow Of bleak November weather, Late fragrant lilies blow. I heard a footstep behind me And the sound of a merry laugh, And I knew the heart it came from Y\ r ould be like a comforting staff In the hour and time of trouble, Hopeful and brave and strong, One of the hearts to lean on When we think that things go wrong. I turned at the click of the gate latch, And met his manly look; A face like his gives me pleasure, Like the page of a pleasant book. 99 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD It told of a steadfast purpose, Of a brave and daring will — A face with a promise in it That God grant the years to fulfill. He went up the pathway singing; I saw the woman's eyes Grow bright with a wordless welcome, As sunshine warms the skies. "Back again, sweet mother," He cried, and bent to kiss The loving face that was lifted For what some mothers miss. That boy will do to depend on — I hold that this is true — For lads in love with their mothers Our bravest heroes grew. Earth's grandest hearts have been loving Since time and earth began! And the boy who kissed his mother Is every inch a man. Eh en E. Rex ford. <#ur Parting Bounding like a foot-ball, Kicking at the door, Falling from the table top- Sprawling on the floor. 100 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Smashing cups and saucers, Splitting Dolly's head; Putting little pussy cat Into baby's bed. Building shops and houses, Spoiling father's hat, Hiding mother's precious keys Underneath the mat. Jumping on the fender, Poking at the fire, Dancing on his little legs — Legs that never tire; Making mother's heart leap Forty times a day — Aping every thing we do, Every word we say. Shouting, laughing, tumbling, Roaring with a will; Anywhere and everywhere, Never, never still; Present— bringing sunshine ; Absent— leaving night,— That's our precious darling, That's our heart's delight. 101 polls 80NGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Brown eyes, straight nose ; Dirt pies, rumpled clothes; Torn books, spoilt toys; Arch looks, unlike a boy's; Little rages, obvious arts ; (Three her age is,) cakes, tarts ; Falling down on 2 chairs; Breaking crown down stairs ; Catching flies on the pane ; Deep sighs,— cause not plain; Bribing you with kisses For a few farthing blisses ; Wide awake, as you hear, "Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!" New shoes, new frock; Vague views of what's o'clock When it's time to go to bed, And scorn sublime of what is said; Folded hands, saying prayers, Understands not, nor cares; 102 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Thinks it odd, smiles away; Yet may God hear her pray ! Bedgown white, kiss Dolly; Good night !— that's Polly. Fast asleep, as you see ; Heaven keep my girl for me ! W. B. Rands. Mtlmt Word of a little one born in the West,— How like a sea-bird it comes from the sea, Out of the league-weary waters' unrest Blown with white wings, for a token, to me. Blown with a skriel and a flurry of plumes (Sea-spray and flight-rapture whirled in a gleam!) Here for a sign of the comrade that looms Large in the midst of my love as I dream. He with the heart of an old violin, Vibrant at every least stir in the place, Lyric of woods where the thrushes begin, Wave-questing wanderer, still for a space, — What will the child of his be (so I muse), Wood-flower, sea-flower, star-flower rare? Worlds here to choose from, and which will she choose, She whose first world is an armsweep of air? 103 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Baby Karlene, you are wondering now Why yon can't reach the great moon that you see Just at your hand on the edge of the bough That waves in the window-pane — how can it be ? All your world yet hardly lies out of reach Of ten little fingers and ten little toes. You are a seed for the sky there to teach (And the sun and the wind and the rain) as it grows. Just a green leaf piercing up to the day, Pale fleck of June to come, just to be seen Through the rough crumble of rubble and clay Lifting its loveliness, dawn-child, Karlene! Fragile as fairycraft, dew-dream of love, — Never a clod that has marred the slim stalk, Never a stone but its frail fingers move, Bent on the blue sky, and nothing can balk ! Blue sky and wind-laughters, that is thy dream. Ah, the brave days when thy leafage shall toss High where gold noon-days as sunsets astream Mix with its moving and kiss it across. There the great clouds shall go lazily by, Cool thee with shadows and dazzle with shine, Drench thee with rain-guerdons, bless thee with sky Till all the knowledge of earth shall be thine. 104 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Wind from the ice-floe and wind from the palm, Wind from the mountains and wind from the lea- How they will sing thee of tempest and calm ! How they will lure thee with tales of the sea ! What will you be in that summer, Karlene ? Apple-tree, cherry-tree, lily, or corn? Red rose or yellow rose, gray leaf or green? Which will you choose now the year's at its morn? Somewhere even now in thy heart is the will, — "I shall be Golden Rod, slender and tall — I shall be Pond Lily, secret" and still — I shall be Sweetbriar, Queen of them all — "I shall give shade for the weary to rest— I shall grow flax for the naked to wear — Figs for a feast and all comers to guest — Wreaths that girls twine in the laugh of their hair- 1 ' Ivy for scholars and myrtle for lovers, Laurel for conquerors, poets and kings— Broad-spreading beech-boughs whose benison covers Clamor of bird-notes and flutter of wings — "I shall rise tall as an elm in my grace— I shall be clothed as cat alp a is clad — Poets shall crown me with lyrics of praise — Lovers for lure of my blossoms go mad." 105 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Which shall it be, baby ? Guess you at all ? Only I know in the lull of the year You have said now where your choosing shall fall, Only you have not yet heard yourself, dear. So, like a mocking-bird up in the trees, I, watching, wondering where you have grown, Borrow a note from a birdfellow's glees, Fittest to sing you, and make it my own. Only I know as I wonder, Karlene, Singing up here where you think me a star, Heaven 's still above me, and someone serene Laughs in the blue sky and knows what you are. Richard Hovey. A baby's hands like rosebuds furled, Whence yet no leaf expands, Ope if you touch, tho' close upcurled, — A baby's hands, Then even as warriors grip their brands When battle's bolt is hurled, They close clenched hard like tightening bands. No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled Match even in loveliest lands, The sweetest flowers in all the world, — A baby's hands. Algernon Charles Swinburne. 106 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 0n tyt picture of a Cl)tU> QHreD of jplap Tired of play! Tired of play! What hast thou done this livelong day? The birds are silent, and so is the beej The sun is creeping up steeple and tree; The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves, And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves; Twilight gathers, and day is done, How hast thou spent it, restless one? Playing? But what has thou done beside To tell thy mother, at eventide? What promise of morn is left unbroken? What kind word to thy playmate spoken? Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven? How with thy faults has duty striven ? What hast thou learned by field and hill, By greenwood path, and by singing rill? There will come an eve and a longer day That will find thee tired — but not of play! And thou wilt lean, as thou leanest now, With drooping limbs and aching brow, And wish the shadows would faster creep, And long to go to thy quiet sleep. Well were it then if thy aching brow Were as free from sin and shame as now. Well for thee if thy lip could tell A tale like this of a day spent well. 107 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD If thine open hand hath relieved distress, If thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness, If thou hast forgiven the sore offense, And humbled thy heart with penitence — If Nature's voices have spoken to thee, With her holy meanings, eloquently — If every creature hath won thy love, From the creeping worm to the brooding dove; If never a sad, low-spoken word Hath plead with thy human heart unheard — Then, when the night steals on, as now, It will bring relief to thy aching brow, And with joy and peace at the thought of rest, Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast. Nathaniel P. Willis. 3 Cf)tto'0 iLaug&ter Is there, when the winds are singing, In the happy summer time, When the raptured ear is ringing With earth's music heavenward springing, Forest chirp and village chime, Is there, of the sounds that float, Unsighingly, a single note Half so sweet and clear and wild As the laughter of a child ? Samuel Hinds. 108 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD ®ttlg a H5ab£ Entail Only a baby small, Dropt from the skies ; Only a laughing face, Two sunny eyes; Only two cherry lips, One chubby nose; Only two little hands — Ten little toes. Only a golden head, Curly and soft; Only a tongue that wags Loudly and oft; Only a little brain, Empty of thought; Only a little heart Troubled with nought. Only a tender flower, Sent us to rear ; Only a life to love, While we are here; Only a baby small, Never at rest; Small, but how dear to us, God knoweth best. M. Barr. 109 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD # portrait I will paint her as I see her. Ten times have the lilies blown Since she looked upon the sun. And her face is lily-clear, Lily-shaped and dropped in duty To the law of its own beauty. Oval cheeks, encolored faintly, Which a trail of golden hair Keeps from fading off to air; And a forehead fair and saintly, Which two blue eyes undershine, Like meek prayers before a shrine. Face and figure of a child, Though too calm, you think, and tender For the childhood you would lend her. And her smile, it seems half holy, As if drawn from thoughts more far Than our common jestings are. And, if any poet knew her, He would sing of her with falls Used in lovely madrigals. And, if any painter drew her, He would paint her unaware With a halo round her hair. 110 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD And, if reader read the poem, He would whisper, "You have done a Consecrated little Una." And a dreamer, did you show him That same picture, would exclaim : " 'Tis my angel, with a name." And a stranger, when he sees her, In the street even, smileth stilly, Just as you would at a lily. And all voices that address her Soften, sleeken every word, As if speaking to a bird. And all fancies yearn to cover The hard earth whereon she passes With the thymy-scented grasses. And all hearts do pray, "God love her." Ay, and always, in good sooth, We may all be sure He doth. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 315abp $as Cheeks as soft as July peaches ; Lips whose velvet scarlet teaches Poppies paleness; round large eyes, Ever great with new surprise; 1U SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Minutes filled with shadeless gladness, Minutes just as brimmed with sadness; Happy smiles and wailing cries, Crows and laughs and tearful eyes; Lights and shadows, swifter born Than on windswept autumn corn; Ever some new tiny notion Making every limb all motion ; Catchings up of legs and arms, Throwings back and small alarms; Clutching fingers — straightening jerks, Twining feet, whose each toe works; Kickings up and straining risings, Mother's ever new surp risings; Hands all want and looks all wonder At all things the heavens under; Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings That have more of love than lovings; Mischiefs done with such a winning Archness, that we prize such sinning; Breakings dire of plates and glasses, Graspings small at all that passes; Pullings off of all that's able To be caught from tray or table; Silences— small meditations Deep as thoughts of cares for nations — Breaking into wisest speeches In a tongue that nothing teaches, All the thoughts of whose possessing Must be woo'd to light by guessing; 112 BONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Slumbers— such sweet angel seemings, That we'd ever have such dreamings, Till from sleep we see thee breaking, And we 'd always have thee waking ; Wealth for which we know no measure; Pleasure high above all pleasure; Gladness brimming over gladness; Joy in care— delight in sadness; Loveliness beyond completeness; Sweetness distancing all sweetness; Beauty all that beauty may be: That's May Bennett — that's my baby. W. C. Bennett. a Btmcij of ftoaea The rosy mouth and rosy toe Of little baby brother, Until about a month ago Had never met each other; But nowadays the neighbors sweet, In every sort of weather, Half way with rosy fingers meet, To kiss and play together. John B. Tall. 113 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD W$t spotljer'a Return A month, sweet little ones, is past, Since your dear mother went away,— And she to-morrow will return; To-morrow is the happy day. blessed tidings, thought of joy! The eldest heard with steady glee; Silent he stood; then laughed amain,— And shouted, "Mother, come to me!" Louder and louder did he shout, With witless hope to bring her near; "Nay, patience, patience, little boy; Your tender mother cannot hear. ' ' 1 told of hills and far-off towns, And long, long vales to travel through. He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed, But he submits ; what can he do ? No strife disturbs his sister's breast; She wars not with the mystery Of time and distance, night and day,— The bonds of our humanity. Her joy is like an instinct,— joy Of kitten, bird or summer fly; She dances, runs without an aim, She chatters in her ecstasy. 114 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Her brother now takes up the note, And echoes back his sister 's glee ; They hug the infant in my arms, As if to force his sympathy. Then, settling into fond discourse, "We rested in the garden bower; While sweetly shone the evening sun In his departing hour. We told o'er all that we had done,— Our rambles by the swift brook's side, Far as the willow-skirted pool, Where two fair swans together glide. We talked of change, of winter gone, Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray, Of birds that build their nests and sing, And all " since Mother went away." To her these tales they will repeat, To her our new-born tribes will show The goslings green, the ass's colt, The lambs that in the meadow go. But see, the evening star comes forth; To bed the children must depart ; A moment's heaviness they feel, A sadness at the heart:— 115 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Tis gone, and in a merry fit They run upstairs in gamesome race; I, too, infected by their mood, I could have joined the wanton chase. Five minutes past— and, the change; Asleep upon their beds they lie; Their busy limbs in perfect rest, And closed the sparkling eye. Dorothy Wordsworth. Mttlt HBlue Kibbon* "Little Blue Ribbons/ ' we call her that, From the ribbons she wears in her favorite hat. For may not a person be only five And yet have the neatest taste alive? As a matter of fact this one has views Of the strictest sort as to frocks and shoes — And we never object to a sash or a bow When Little Blue Ribbons prefers it so. Little Blue Ribbons has eyes of blue, And an arch little mouth, when the teeth peep through, And her primitive look is wise and grave, With a sense of the weight of the word "behave. Though now and again she may condescend To a radiant smile for a private friend ; But to smile forever is weak, you know, And Little Blue Ribbons regards it so. 116 ?> SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD She's a staid little woman; and so, as well, Is her ladyship's doll, Miss Bonnibell; But I think what at present the most takes up The thoughts of her heart is her last new cup, For the object thereon, be it understood, Is the Robin that buried the Babes in the Wood. It is not the least like a robin, though, But Little Blue Ribbons declares it so. Little Blue Ribbons believes, I think, That the rain comes down for the birds to drink; Moreover, she holds, in a cab you'd get To the spot where the suns of yesterday set; And I know she fully expects to meet With a lion or wolf in Regent Street. We may smile or deny as we like, but no— For Little Blue Ribbons still dreams it so. Dear Little Blue Ribbons ! She tells us all That she never intends to be " great' ' or "tall"; (For how could she ever contrive to sit In her own, own chair, if she grew one bit?) And further, she says she intends to stay In her "darling home" till she gets quite gray. Alas, we are gray, and we doubt, you know — But Little Blue Ribbons will have it so. Austin Dobson. 117 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD $um's £>ong "When the voices of children are heard on the green And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast, And everything else is still. 1 ' Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away 'Till the morning appears in the skies.' ' 1 ' No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep ; Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, And the hills are all covered with sheep.' ' "Well, well, go and play 'till the light fades away, And then come home to bed. ' ' The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed, And all the hills echoed. William Blake. Babe's; jFm A baby's feet, like sea-shells pink, Might tempt — should heaven see meet— An angel's lips to kiss, we think, A baby's feet. 118 SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD Like rose-hued sea flowers, toward the heat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet. No flower bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet As shine on life's untrodden brink,— A baby's feet. Algernon Charles Swinburne. !Utts's