PW 6110 
 •C4 N36 
 
 Copy J 
 
PN 6110 
 ,C4 N36 
 Copy 1 
 
 A LITTLE BOdK 
 OF BIO- THOUGHTS 
 ABOUT LITTLE ONES 
 
Glass 
 
 Book 
 
 Copyright N°_ 
 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 
 
BABY 
 
 A Little Book of Big Thoughts 
 About Little Ones 
 

"BABY" 
 
 cA Utile BooM^, 
 of 6i<p Thoughts 
 ahout/tttle Ones 
 
 Collected, and. Edited. 
 hv 
 
 "WilWD-Nealafr 
 
 Publisked by 
 
 PTA£>lland (^Company 
 
 Chicago 
 
9? iflat 
 c Wo7ne7i 
 
 Copyright, 1910 
 
 By P. F. Volland $ Co. 
 
 Chicago 
 
 © ) ; - i 
 
 44 
 
o-- 
 
 BABIES. 
 
 *2^HERE have been and are so many babies 
 ^^ in the world that it seems unfair there 
 should not be a book especially devoted to 
 them. Surely in all the centuries that have 
 gone there must have been some such a 
 book, but the trouble is that each new baby 
 is so wonderful that no one book about any 
 one baby is good enough to apply to any 
 other. So we have sought through the 
 works of writers, old and new, and have tried 
 to select the very best things they have 
 had to say about that little monarch — 
 Baby. 
 
 It has been pleasant work, though in a 
 way difficult. The great writers seemed 
 to consider philosophy and science and 
 romance and history more important than 
 babies, when, as a matter of fact, if it were 
 not for babies there would be no phi- 
 losphy or science or romance or history. 
 And to those fortunate parents who possess 
 a new baby there is all of these four sub- 
 jects in that one little being, which is 
 exactly proper and right. So in this little 
 book we have a lot of things written 
 
BABY 
 
 ( 
 
 about the baby. It is interesting to know 
 that, except one or two old heathen bach- 
 elors, all the other illustrious writers of the 
 world have referred to babies in the most 
 beautiful manner. 
 
 We wish to thank all the modern writers 
 who have so generously permitted us to 
 use their work in this collection; as to the 
 ancient ones, they have had their rewards. 
 
 —W. D. N. 
 
BABY. 
 * * * 
 
 %^ i HERE did you come from, baby dear? 
 
 ^A/ Out of the everywhere into the 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 any one 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 bonds 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. 
 But how did you come to us, you dear? 
 God thought about you, and so I am here. 
 
 — George MacDonald. 
 
BABY 
 
 ONLY A BABY SMALL. 
 
 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 naught. 
 
 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. 
 
 ■ 
 
 — Matthias Ban. 
 
* 
 
 BABY 
 
 A BABY'S FEET. 
 
 H 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. 
 
 Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat 
 
 They stretch 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. — A. C. Swinburne. 
 
 m 
 
 * * * 
 
 Y babe so beautiful! It thrills my heart 
 With tender gladness, thus to look at thee. 
 ^ -<x ~. — Coleridge. 
 
 O LITTLE feet! that such long years 
 > Must wander on through hopes and fears, 
 Must ache and bleed beneath your load; 
 I, nearer to the wayside inn 
 Where toil shall cease and rest begin, 
 Am weary, thinking of your road. 
 
 a. ^ ^ — Longfellow. 
 
 H 
 
 ROSE with all its sweetest leaves 
 yet folded. — Byron. 
 
 9 
 
BABY 
 
 TELL ME, BABY. 
 
 T^ITTLE wee maiden, with love-lit eyes, 
 J-< Lying here in my arms tonight, 
 What of the Dreamland beyond the skies? 
 
 Whither you drift in the soft firelight? 
 Tell me, lassie, the places fair 
 
 Way out yonder, which you behold — 
 Magic castles and sights so rare, 
 
 Over beyond the sunset's gold. 
 
 Tell me, baby, with eyes of blue, 
 
 What you see in that fairy land; 
 
 Lead me there with your wee, pink hand, 
 Little charmer, those sights to view. 
 Let me wander along with you 
 
 Deep in the dewey dells out there, 
 Which in the Distant Past I knew, 
 
 Far removed from the Days of Care. 
 
 Little wee maiden, with curls of night, 
 
 Drowsing here in the firelight's glow, 
 Tell me, dear, of each rapturous sight 
 
 You behold, as the sun dips low. 
 Hark to the wavelets against the strand, 
 
 Where the spires of Sleep Town gleam! 
 Lead me, sweet, with your baby hand, 
 
 Into that beautiful Land of Dream. 
 
 Tell me, baby, with drooping eyes, 
 
 What you see in that magic clime; 
 Sing to me of its joys sublime, 
 
 Far removed from the crimson skies. 
 
 10 
 
BABY 
 
 Little dreamer, what is the prize 
 
 Which you seek on your journey there? 
 
 Tell me, baby, with sleep-bound eyes, 
 All the charms of that city fair. 
 
 — E. A. Brininstool. 
 9 9 9 
 
 O HAPPY, unowned youths ! Your limbs can bear 
 * The scorching dog-star and the winter's air; 
 While the rich infant, nursed with care and pain, 
 Thirsts with each heat and coughs with every rain. 
 
 — Gay. 
 
 * 9 9 
 
 yf\EANTIME a smiling offspring rises 'round 
 " *s And mingles both their graces. By degrees 
 The human blossom blows; and every day, 
 Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm — 
 The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. 
 
 — Thomson. 
 
 K 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 ET nothing which is disgraceful to be spoken of, 
 or to be seen, approach this place, where a child is. 
 
 — Juvenal. 
 
 U 
 
BABY 
 
 "7XHE heav'ns have blest you with a godly son 
 ^•J To be a comforter when he is gone. 
 
 * * » 
 
 'T^HE bearing and training of a child 
 ^-J Is woman's wisdom. 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 9 9 9 
 
 ONE trouble about a baby is havin* to read down 
 town. 
 
 — Kin Hubbard. 
 9 * 9 
 
 'T^XRAILING clouds of glory do we come 
 ^-^ From God, who is our home: 
 Heaven lies about us in our infancy. 
 
 — Wordsworth. 
 9 9 9 
 
 "XT BABE in a house is a well-spring of pleasure. 
 s~** — Martin F. Tupper. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 OWHEN a mother meets on high 
 * The babe she lost in infancy, 
 Hath she not then for pains and fears, 
 
 The day of woe, the watchful night, 
 For all her sorrows, all her tears, 
 An over-payment of delight? 
 
 — Robert Southey. 
 
 12 
 
BABY 
 
 DA FAM'LY MAN. 
 
 I AM too prouda man to-day 
 For wanta swear an' fight, 
 An' I no care what bad keeds say 
 
 For makin' me excite'. 
 So eef somebody com' an* try 
 
 For makin' fool weeth me 
 I justa gon' be dignifi* 
 
 Like fam'ly man should be. 
 Las' night da doctor bring my wife 
 
 A baby girl. Dat's how 
 I am so proud. You bat my life 
 
 I gon' be good man now. 
 
 — T. A. Daly. (From "Canzoni: 
 9 * 9 
 
 '7 - XH0SE that do teach your babes, 
 ^-^ Do it w T ith gentle means and easy tasks; 
 He might have chid me so, for in good faith 
 I am a child to chiding. . 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 * * * 
 
 "7^HE tear down childhood's cheek that flows 
 ^^ Is like the dew-drop on the rose; 
 When next the summer breeze comes by 
 And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 
 
 —Scott. 
 
 IS 
 
BABY 
 
 TO A NEW BABY. 
 
 GOOD morning, little baby, 
 With your lips all dew empearled ! 
 Permit me to present you 
 To an interesting world. 
 
 It is full of fads, they tell me; 
 It contains the false and true; 
 But whatever may be in it, 
 It was made, my dear, for You! 
 
 All the thinkers who are thinking: 
 All the brawny sons of toil, 
 All the seeds that are upsprouting 
 From its re-creating soil: 
 
 All the protoplasmic planning, 
 All the schemes that come and go, 
 Coalescing and progressing 
 In the Cosmic ebb and flow, 
 
 Are preparing for your pleasure, 
 Are maturing for your good. 
 We have made some failures, baby, 
 But we've done the best we could. 
 
 Pray accept, therefore, our greeting 
 And our maximum of cheer 
 In the spirit we present it — 
 Pray command us, baby dear! 
 
 — Thomas L. Masson. 
 
 14 
 
BABY 
 
 H CHILD may have too much of its mother's 
 blessing. — Proverb. 
 
 9 *.# 
 
 *7tiHE birth of a child is the imprisonment of a soul. 
 ^A — Simons. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 '7X0 a child in confinement its mother's knee is a 
 ^•J binding post. — Hitopadesa. 
 
 * * * 
 
 ^IHE future destiny of the child is always the work 
 ^J of the mother. — Napoleon. 
 
 » * # 
 
 BE next essays to walk, but, downward 
 pressed, 
 On four feet imitates his brother beast; 
 By slow degrees he gathers from the ground 
 His legs, and to the rolling chair is bound. 
 
 — Dry den. 
 9 9 9 
 
 XfnHOSOEVER therefore shall humble himself as 
 ^^ this little child, the same also is greatest in the 
 kingdom of heaven. — St. Matthew. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 IF children grew up according to early indications, 
 we should have nothing but geniuses. 
 
 — Goethe. 
 
 15 
 
BABY 
 
 BABY MARY. 
 
 -fH|EEP in baby Mary's eyes, 
 
 <**J Baby Mary's sweet blue eyes, 
 
 Dwell the golden memories 
 
 Of the music once her ears 
 
 Heard in far-off Paradise; 
 
 So she has no time for tears, — i 
 
 Baby Mary, — 
 Listening to the song she hears. 
 
 Soft in Baby Mary's face, 
 
 Baby Mary's lovely face, 
 
 If you watch, you, too, may trace 
 
 Dreams her spirit-self hath seen 
 
 In some far-off Eden place, I 
 
 Whence her soul she cannot wean. — 
 
 Baby Mary, — 
 Dreaming in a world between. 
 
 — Madison Cawein. 
 * * * 
 
 I^HE child's murmuring is more, and is less, than 
 ^•J words; there are no notes, and yet it is a song; 
 
 there are no syllables, and yet it is a language 
 
 This poor stammering is a compound of what the child 
 said when it was an angel, and of what it will say when 
 it becomes a man. 
 
 — Victor Hugo. 
 
 16 
 
BABY 
 
 •f\ONDAY'S child is fair in face, 
 fl * s Tuesday's child is full of grace, 
 Wednesday's child is full of woe, 
 Thursday's child has far to go, 
 Friday's child is loving and giving, 
 Saturday's child works hard for its living; 
 And a child that's born on Christmas Day 
 Is fair and wise, and good and gay. 
 
 — HalliwelVs Rhymes and Tales. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 iplHY cradled brows and loveliest loving lips, 
 ^^ The floral hair, the little lightening eyes, 
 And all thy goodly glory. —A. C. Swinburne. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 THE STRANGER. 
 
 *W7*OUR speech he cannot understand, 
 t£> But since he came, last night, 
 The world has seemed so good and grand, 
 
 So beautiful and bright! 
 He has not seen it yet, but by 
 
 The anxious, loving way 
 He cuddles to his mother, I 
 
 Should judge he want3 to stay. 
 
 — S. E. Riser. 
 » * * 
 
 *^|OW many troubles are with children born! 
 <*-% Yet he that wants them counts himself forlorn. 
 — Drummond of Hawthornd-en. 
 
 17 
 
BABY 
 
 BAPPY child! Thy cradle is still to thee an infinite 
 space; once grown into a man, and the boundless 
 world will be too small to thee. Schiller. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 IN every child there lies a wonderful deep. 
 — Schumann. 
 9 9 9 
 
 *7tiHEIR love in early infancy began, 
 ^-J And rose as childhood ripened into man. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 9 ^ ^ 
 
 DEEP meaning often lies in the play of a child. 
 
 — Schiller. 
 ^ 9 -p. 
 
 BEHOLD the child, by nature's kindly law, 
 Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw. 
 
 — Pope. 
 
 & & 9 
 
 'TTZILE world has no such flower in any land, 
 ^-J And no such pearl in any gulf the sea, 
 As any babe on any mother's knee. 
 
 — Swinburne. 
 ^ ^ 9 
 
 TpTTlS are better than all the ballads 
 *^> That ever were sung or said; 
 For ye are living poems 
 
 And all the rest are dead. —Longfellow. 
 
 18 
 
 H 
 
ft 
 
 BABY 
 
 BABY'S PRAYER 
 
 H, God is near the cottage when the eve- 
 ning shadows creep, 
 
 And baby's lips are murmuring: " I lay me 
 down to sleep ! " 
 
 No matter what the distance is where baby 
 says her prayer, 
 
 The omnipresent God of Love is always watch- 
 ing there! 
 
 Ah, he who notes the sparrow's fall and buoys 
 the robin's flight, 
 
 Shall he forget the hour of dusk when baby 
 says good night ? 
 
 Shall he, aloof from baby's prayer and baby's 
 laughter purled, 
 
 Deny himself the sweetest chords that charm 
 a raptured world ? 
 
 Ah, God is near when baby prays beside her 
 downy bed, 
 
 And God will send his angels down to watch 
 above her head — 
 
 To guard her through the Sleepy Way, the 
 " bogey " wood of night, 
 
 And give her back to mother's arms when 
 Phoebus takes her flight! 
 
 Ah, now the baby lisps: " Amen! " and mother 
 tucks her snug, 
 
 And kisses her, and pats her hair and calls her 
 "mother's bug!" 
 
 And then she tiptoes from the room, as even- 
 ing shadows limn, 
 
 And leaves her baby, fast asleep, to angel 
 
 guards — and Him! — Byron Williams. 
 
 19 
 
BABY 
 
 BORN of a Monday, fair in face; 
 Born of a Tuesday, full of God's grace; 
 Born of a Wednesday, merry and glad; 
 Born of a Thursday, sour and sad; 
 Born of a Friday, Godly given; 
 Born of a Saturday, work for your living; 
 Born of a Sunday, ne'er shall we want — 
 So there ends the week, and there's an end on 't. 
 — Brand's Popular Antiquities, 
 » ^ * 
 NOCTURNE. 
 
 CHE bee to the hive, and the bird to the nest 
 The opened bud to its close again, 
 And the weary sun to the waiting west; 
 And sleep to the heavy eyes of men. 
 Night bringeth the hour of all the best — 
 It bringeth the babe to the mother's breast. 
 The owl to the tree and the stars to the sky, 
 And the silver moon to its journey high; 
 The beetle lurcheth in humming flight 
 While the firefly flasheth across the night. 
 Then cometh the hour of softest charms — 
 It bringeth the babe to mother's arms. 
 The night foldeth in as a drapery soft 
 As the far perfumes that the breezes waft; 
 The world is there — but we are here 
 With lullaby, lullaby, low and clear. 
 Night sendeth the hour of all apart — 
 It bringeth the babe to mother's heart. 
 
 —Wilbur D. Nesbit. 
 
 20 
 
BABY 
 
 A GOOD NIGHT SONG. 
 •f\OTHER croons a good-night song, 
 *'■* Close your eyes, my dearie; 
 Fairies round a wee one throng, 
 Close your eyes, my dearie. 
 Close your eyes while mother sings, 
 Hear the dip of fairy wings, 
 Night a peaceful slumber brings, 
 Close your eyes, my dearie. 
 Close your eyes 
 Little dear; 
 In the skies 
 
 Stars appear. 
 Through the night 
 Shadows creep; 
 Dear, good night, 
 Go to sleep. 
 Bylo-land in slumber lies, 
 
 Close your eyes, my dearie; 
 Angels watch you from the skies, 
 
 Close your eyes, my dearie. 
 Slumber while the night wind sighs, 
 Slumber ere the twilight flies, 
 Dream of love and lullabies, 
 Close your eyes, my dearie. 
 Close your eyes 
 Little dear; 
 In the skies 
 
 Stars shine clear. 
 Fades the light, 
 
 Shadows creep; 
 Dear, good night, 
 
 Go to sleep. — Joe Cone. 
 
 21 
 
BABY 
 
 LINES TO A BABY GIRL. 
 
 /^H, she has such a way with her! 
 
 ^^ I stay with her 
 
 And play with her; 
 
 Her cheeks are round and dimpled and 
 Her eyes are Heaven's blue. 
 
 My life is spent quite half with her, 
 
 I laugh with her 
 
 And chaff with her, 
 Till she looks up with laughing eyes, 
 And all she says is "Goo!" 
 
 Sometimes I try to walk with her, 
 I talk with her 
 And rock with her; 
 
 She knows some way my lovie for her 
 
 Is tender and is true. 
 And so I sit and speak with hpr 
 And seek with her 
 The cheek of her 
 
 To brush with little kisses and 
 
 Quite all she says is "Goo!" 
 
 She toddles in to share with me 
 
 My chair with me; 
 
 Her air with me 
 
 Is that of queen imperious, 
 My heart her subject true. 
 
 22 
 
BABY 
 
 Upon the floor she lies with me, 
 And tries with me 
 To rise with me 
 
 When romping time is over, and 
 
 She looks up and says "Goo!" 
 
 Oh, she is such a part of me, 
 The heart of me, 
 And art of me 
 
 Could not express my love for her, 
 
 So tender and so true; 
 She is the treasure blessed of me, 
 Heart's guest of me, 
 The best of me, 
 
 This little baby girl of me 
 
 Who looks up and says "Goo!" 
 
 —J. W. Foley. 
 
 BUT what am I? 
 An infant crying in the night: 
 An infant crying for the light: 
 And with no language but a cry, 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 9 9 9 
 
 IF a boy is not trained to endure, and to bear trouble, 
 he will grow up a girl; and a boy that is a girl has 
 all a girl's weakness without any of her regal qualities. 
 A woman, made out of a woman, is God's noblest 
 work; a woman made out of a man is his meanest. 
 
 — Henry Ward Beecher. 
 
 23 
 
BABY 
 
 JTT LITTLE child, a limber elf, 
 7~*+ Singing, dancing to itself, 
 A fairy thing with red, round cheeks 
 That always finds and never seeks 
 Makes such a vision to the sight 
 As fills a father's eyes with light. 
 
 — Coleridge. 
 9 9 * 
 
 1T7IVING jewels, dropped unstained from heaven. 
 
 X < —Pollok. 
 
 ^ 9 ^ 
 
 H MOTHER who boasts two boys was ever ac- 
 counted rich. — Robert Browning. 
 
 * * * 
 
 mm TT SWEET new blossom of humanity, fresh fallen 
 7~*+ from God's own home, to flower on earth. 
 
 — Massey. 
 9 9 9 
 
 GOOD Christian people, here is an inestimable loan 
 for you. Take all heed thereof, and in all care- 
 fulness employ it. With high recompense, or else 
 with heavy penalty, will it one day be required back. 
 
 — Carlyle. 
 
 * # # 
 
 %^i 1 i HO takes the child by the hand takes the mother 
 W by the heart. —Danish Proverb. 
 
 24 
 
 c 
 
ft' 
 
 BABY 
 
 EASY ARITHMETIC. 
 
 >OSEBUD, dainty and fair to see, 
 Flower of all the world to me, 
 Come this way on your dancing feet — 
 Say, how much do you love me, sweet ? 
 Red little mouth drawn gravely down, 
 White brow wearing a puzzled frown, 
 Wise little baby rose is she, 
 Trying to measure her love for me. 
 " I love you all the day and the night, 
 All the dark and the sunshine bright, 
 All the candy in every store, 
 All the dollars and more and more, 
 Over the tops of the mountains high, 
 All the world way up to the sky." 
 # # # 
 m^ f HAT is there sweeter, given by nature to the 
 ^^ race of mankind, than each man's own children ? 
 ^ ^ ^ — Cicero. 
 
 •^^ERHAPS a better woman after all, 
 
 -fc^ With chubby children hanging on my neck, 
 
 To keep me low and wise. 
 
 — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 9 9 * 
 
 OHILDREN blessings seem, but torments are; 
 When young, our folly, and when old, our care. 
 9 9v — Thomas Otway. 
 
 jQ'UFFER little children to come unto me; and 
 
 ^2 forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of 
 Heaven, — St. Matthew. 
 
 25 
 
BABY 
 
 
 SH-SH-SH. 
 
 yf\Y ma, she's upstairs in bed, 
 
 *-M An' It's there wif her. 
 
 It's all bundled up an* red — 
 
 Can't nobody stir, 
 
 Can't nobody say a word 
 
 Since It come to us. . I 
 
 Only thing 'at I have heard 
 
 'Ceptin' all Its fuss 
 
 Is, 
 
 "Sh-h-h-h!" 
 
 I goed in to see my ma, 
 'Nen dumb on th' bed. 
 Was she glad to see me ? Pshaw! 
 "Sh-h-h! " 'at's what she said, ( 
 
 'Nen It blinked an' tried to see! 
 'Nen I runned away 
 Out to my old apple tr^e 
 Where no one could say, 
 "Sh-h-h-h!" 
 
 'Nen I laid down on th' ground 
 An' say 'at I just wish 
 I was dead! An' there's a sound — 
 'At old tree said, 
 
 " Sh-h-h-h! " 
 
 'Nen I cry an' cry an' cry 
 
 Till my pa he hears 
 
 An' corned there an' wipe my eye 
 
 26 
 
BABY 
 
 An* mop up th* tears, 
 'Nen said: 
 
 - "Sh-h-h-h!" 
 
 I'm just go' to tell my ma 
 I don't like her one bit. 
 Why d' they all say " Sh-h-h " to me 
 An' not say that to It. 
 » -Wilbur D. Nesbit. 
 
 From "The Trail to Boyland" 
 Copyright 1904, by the Xobbs-Merrill Co, 
 Used by permission of the publishers 
 
 * * * 
 
 BE very vigilant over thy child in the April of his 
 understanding, jlest the frost of May nip his 
 * blossoms. While he is a tender twig, straighten him; 
 
 whilst he is a new vessel, season him; such as thou 
 makest him, such commonly shalt thou find him. 
 
 — Quarles. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 I KNOW he's coming by this sign: 
 That baby's almost wild! 
 See how he laughs, and crows, and starts — 
 
 Heaven bless the merry child! 
 He's father's self in face and limb, 
 And father's heart is strong in him. 
 Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands, 
 For father on the threshold stands. 
 
 — Mary Howitt. 
 
 27 
 
BABY 
 
 HOW A BABY GROWS. 
 
 0HOW me when a bud 
 Changes to a rose 
 Then I'll tell you truly 
 When a baby grows. 
 
 — Author Unknown. 
 9 9 9 
 
 HANG UP HER STOCKING. 
 
 Y^ANG up the baby's stocking 
 J-? Be sure you don't forget. 
 The dear little dimpled darling — 
 She ne'er saw Christmas yet. 
 
 Write: "This is the baby's stocking 
 
 That hangs in the corner here. 
 You have never seen her, Santa, 
 
 For she only came this year, 
 But she's the blessedest baby! 
 
 And now before you go 
 Just cram her stocking with goodies 
 
 From the top clean down to the toe." 
 
 — Old Jingle. 
 * * * 
 
 "fOY thou bring'st, 
 
 But mixed with trembling; 
 Anxious joys and tender fears; 
 Pleasing hopes, 
 
 And mingled sorrows, 
 Smiles of transport dashed with tears. 
 
 — Cottle. 
 
 28 
 
 
BABY 
 
 TO A CHILD. 
 
 rby any device or knowledge 
 The rosebud its beauty could know, 
 It would stay a rosebud forever, 
 Nor into its fullness grow. 
 And if thou could'st know thine own sweetness, 
 
 O little one, perfect and sweet ! 
 Thou would'st be a child forever; 
 Complete whilst incomplete. 
 
 — Francis Turner Palgrave- 
 ¥ ¥ ¥ 
 PHILIP, MY KING. 
 Ip/OOK at me with thy large, brown eyes, 
 J-< Philip, my king! 
 For round thee the purple shadow lies 
 Of babyhood's royal dignities. 
 Lay on my neck thy tiny hand 
 
 With Love's invisible scepter laden; 
 I am thine Esther, to command 
 Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden, 
 Philip, my king! 
 
 I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow, 
 
 Philip, my king! 
 The spirit that there lies sleeping now 
 May rise like a giant, and make men bow 
 As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers. 
 
 My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer, 
 Let me behold thee in future years! 
 
 Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, 
 
 Philip, my king! 
 
 — Dinah Mariah Mulock. 
 20 
 
o, 
 
 BABY 
 
 LOVING. 
 
 GOLDEN hair 
 
 r > And eyes-o'-blue, 
 
 My heart goes throbbing 
 
 A song to you, 
 Whenever you come 
 
 With your laugh of glee, 
 Within a city 
 Block of me. 
 
 0, eyes-o'-blue 
 
 f And golden hair, 
 
 My weary soul 
 
 Drops every care 
 And lilts and sings 
 
 As wild birds do, 
 At the teeniest- 
 
 Weeniest sight o' you! 
 
 — Judd Mortimer Lewis. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 WHAT SANTA CLAUS THINKS. 
 
 *f^I! Another one! What's the world about? 
 >»-? Don't these people know that I am 'most worn out? 
 Millions of 'em coming, year by year, 
 Every youngster wretched if I don't appear. 
 
 Here's this jolly little chap, scarcely here a week. 
 Don't I know he rules the house, though he cannot 
 
 speak? 
 Both his eyelids shut up tight, mouth wide open, too — 
 'Spose he got a look at me, wonder what he'd do? 
 
 — Old Recitation. 
 
 30 
 
 
B 
 
 BABY 
 
 THE BABY'S HELP. 
 
 , W*7IPS of laughter, eyes of light, 
 -*-< Do you know your mission here? 
 Sent to make the old world bright, 
 
 Sent us grown-up folks to cheer. 
 Little can you understand, 
 
 Playing in the sunlight there, 
 Lips of laughter, that you make 
 
 My cross easier to bear. 
 
 Golden hair and rosy cheek, 
 
 Just a tiny little mite, 
 Little can you guess the part 
 
 You are playing in my fight. 
 Little do you know the help 
 
 You are giving me each day, 
 Keeping faith and hope alive, 
 
 Helping me along the way. 
 
 Chubby hand and tippy-toe, 
 
 Little do you ever dream 
 How you keep your daddy up, 
 
 Aiding him, when it must seem 
 He must fail and quit the fight; 
 
 But his strength returns anew, 
 And he plunges in once more 
 
 Just because he thinks of you. 
 
 — Edgar A. Guest. 
 * * * 
 
 EAUTIFUL as is the morning of day, so is the 
 morning of life. —Guthrie. 
 
 SI 
 
BABY 
 
 CRADLE SONG. ' 
 
 "VHHfHAT does he think of his mother's eyes? 
 
 ^S 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, 
 Pressed his hand and buries his face 
 Deep where her heart-throbs sinks and swell, 
 With a tenderness she can never tell, 
 Though she murmur the words 
 Of all the birds- 
 Words she has learned to murmur well? \ 
 Now he thinks he'll go to sleep ! 
 I can see the shadow creep 
 Over his eyes in soft eclipse, 
 Over his brow and over his lips, 
 Out to his little finger tips. 
 Softly sinking, down he goes! 
 Down he goes! Down he goes! 
 See! He's hushed in sweet repose. 
 
 — John G. Holland. 
 » * » 
 
 RAIN up a child in the way he should go, and 
 when he is old he will not depart from it. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ — Bible. 
 
 HE child is father of the man, 
 
 — Wordsworth. 
 
 32 
 
 
 
 O 1 
 
BABY 
 
 TO BABY DOROTHY. 
 
 '7t^HERE , S a sleepy look in your violet eyes, 
 ^^ So the sails of our boat we'll unfurl 
 And float away to the land of dreams, 
 My dear little Dorothy girl. 
 
 Twilight is coming soon, little one, 
 The sheep have gone to the fold — 
 You laugh as our white sails bend and dip, 
 And smile at the sunset's gold. 
 
 The lilies nod to the sound of the waves; 
 While the flower bells are ringing; 
 Can you hear the music, Dorothy dear? 
 The song that the angels are singing? 
 
 The fairies are weaving their drowsy spell 
 As we float down the shadow stream, 
 The stars shine over your dainty head 
 And the roses are lost in a dream. 
 
 Now in silence we've reached the shore, 
 The white sails here we'll furl, 
 The blue-eyed maid is sound asleep; 
 "Good night, dear little girl." 
 
 — Myrtle Reed. 
 
 T5 
 
 9 * 9 
 
 IE heart of childhood is all mirth. 
 
 — Keble. 
 
 33 
 
BABY 
 
 CI VERY baby born into the world is a finer one than 
 
 ^ the last - -Dickens. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 Q^PEAK roughly to your little boy 
 R^ And beat him when he sneezes. 
 He only does it to annoy, 
 
 Because he knows it teases. 
 
 — Lewis Carroll. 
 9 9 9 
 
 rl their tender nonage, while they spread 
 Their springing leaves, and lift their infant head, 
 Indulge their childhood, and the nursling spare. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 9 9 9 
 
 qTZlIE great man is he who does not lose his child's 
 
 *^ heart - —Mencius. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 \V}E need love's tender lessons taught, 
 ^^ As only weakness can; 
 God hath His small interpreters; 
 The child must teach the man. 
 
 — Whittier. 
 9 9 9 
 
 1T7IKE infant slumbers, pure and light. 
 ^ g ^ — John Keble. 
 
 34 
 
H 
 
 BABY 
 
 JAMES REGISTERS A KICK. 
 
 %V YE'VE got a baby at our house, 
 ^^ He come on New Year's day, 
 He's toothlesser than Gran'pa an' 
 
 His hair's all wore away, 
 The folks call him their sweetie lamb 
 
 An* other foolish names, 
 Since that kid 'rived 'bout all I hear 
 Is, "Don't wake baby, James!" 
 
 One time I got a little pup 
 
 An' brung it home with me, 
 'Twas jist a common cur, but still 
 
 'Twus cute as it cud be, 
 My mother an' my sisters tock 
 
 An' sent the pup away, 
 They said 'twas sech a nuisance, but 
 
 They let that baby stay. 
 
 That pup cud walk an' jump an' bark, 
 
 'Twus mighty quick to learn, 
 The baby hasn't got no sense — 
 
 That kid ain't worth a dern, 
 Now Mom an' all the rest the folks 
 
 Kin praise the blamed thing up, 
 But on the dead, 'tween you an' me, 
 
 I'd ruther have the pup. 
 
 — Bide Dudley. 
 ♦ * * 
 
 MOTHER only knows a mother's fondness. 
 — Lady Mary Worthy Montague. 
 
 3o 
 
BABY 
 
 THE NEW WAY. 
 
 *^"\0 more kissing, so they say, 
 J-J Of the little tad.i 
 Kissing, as we know today, 
 
 Is extremely bad. 
 No more cake with icing white, 
 
 No more flaky pies. 
 No more fairy tales at night; 
 
 They are only lies. 
 
 No more heat; though baby freeze, 
 
 Stopped is every flue. 
 Helpless grandma sadly sees 
 
 Baby turning blue. 
 No one dares to boss the bait, 
 
 Giver of the law. 
 Baby has a down-to date, 
 
 Scientific ma. 
 
 — Will S. Askins. 
 
 9 9 * 
 
 GRANDDAD ESSAYS A LULLABY. 
 
 
 & 
 
 ^HUT that little eye, baby!* 
 Do as you are bid! .... 
 There! At last the sandman's 
 Sitting on the lid.f 
 
 — C. W. Taylor. 
 
 *Confound you! 
 f Thank heaven! 
 
 36 
 
BABY 
 
 TO A BABY. 
 
 % IT r OUR'E a baby and cunning and dimpled and 
 t£» sweet, 
 
 From your little bald head to your little pink feet; 
 You're a treasure no mortal would barter for gold 
 And the mirth of your cooing will never grow old. 
 
 As the flowers of summer you gladden the heart, 
 And the sunbeams in ecstacy over you dart, 
 You're a little, tempestuous blossom that grows 
 In the garden of life with the beautiful rose. 
 
 May your dreams be the visions of summer and spring, 
 And your comrades the warblers that happily sing, 
 May the truth lead you safely through valley and fen 
 As you march toward the camp of the army of men. 
 
 — Frank W. Taylor, Jr. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 THE BABY'S STOCKING. 
 
 -|^EAR,! What a tiny stocking! 
 <**J It doesn't take much to hold 
 Such little pink toes as baby's 
 
 Away from the frost and cold. 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 CHILDREN sweeten labors, but they make mis- 
 fortunes more bitter; they increase the cares of 
 life, but they mitigate the remembrance of death. 
 
 — Bacon. 
 
 37 
 
BABY 
 
 MY TREASURES. 
 
 I HAVE riches almost beyond counting, 
 Of jewels and of gold I've a store; 
 There's none in the world whom I envy, 
 
 Nor ever I murmur for more. 
 These treasures I guard, oh, how closely! 
 
 My life's blood's no dearer to me! 
 They're locked from all danger of stealing, 
 
 And my heart holds the mystical key. 
 I envy no millionaire princess, 
 
 With this mine of home riches, my own; 
 With these treasures all mine, and mine only, 
 
 I envy no king on his throne. 
 My world may be small, but 'tis happy 
 And peaceful, far from the mad whirl, 
 And the day's toil is lost and forgotten 
 In the kiss of my wee baby girl. 
 
 — Louise Malloy. 
 9 9 9 
 
 jfTT length his lonely cot appears in view 
 7^* Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 
 Th' expectant wee things todlin stachen through 
 To meet their dad, wi' flichtering noise and glee 
 
 — Robert Burns. 
 9 9 9 
 
 I^E struggles first for breath, and cries for aid, 
 J— ? Then helpless in his mother's lap is laid: 
 He creeps, he walks, and, issuing into man, 
 Grudges their life from whom his own began; 
 Retchless of laws, affects to rule alone. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 
 38 
 
BABY 
 
 A MOTHER'S SONG. 
 
 *7^HE sun's sinking low in the west, baby dear, 
 **J Go to sleep, pretty one, close your eyes; 
 Don't you see how he smilingly goes to his bed 
 With that great fleecy cloud lying under his head? 
 Go to sleep, pretty one, close your eyes. 
 
 The sun's gone to sleep in the west, baby dear, 
 Sweetly sleep, pretty one, sweetly sleep; 
 May your dreams be as golden, as golden and bright 
 As the sun's when he rests, in the sleeplands of light; 
 Sweetly sleep, pretty one, sweetly sleep. 
 
 The sun is awake from his sleep, baby dear 
 Sweetly smile, pretty one, sweetly smile; 
 May Love in His goodness surround you this day, 
 And keep you and guide you with His brightest ray; 
 Sweetly smile, pretty one, sweetly smile. 
 
 — John Armor Miller. 
 
 * * * 
 
 jQ^OME wonder that children should be given to 
 £-J young mothers. But what instructions does the 
 babe bring to the mother? She learns patience, self- 
 control, endurance; her very arm grows strong, so 
 that she holds the dear burden longer than the father 
 
 can# — Thomas Wentworth Higginson. 
 
 9 *.* 
 ^HOU, while babes around thee cling, 
 Show us how divine a thing 
 A woman can be made. — Wordsworth. 
 
 39 
 
 15" 
 
BABY 
 
 ax 
 
 "WELCOME, LITTLE STRANGER. 
 |OZZER bought a baby, 
 'Ittle bitsy sing; 
 Sink I mos could put him 
 
 Frou my rubber ring. 
 Ain't he awful ugly? 
 
 Ain't he awful pink? 
 "Just come down from Heaven," 
 
 Tat's a fib I sink. 
 Doctor told anozzer 
 
 Grat big awful lie; 
 Nose an't out of joint zen, 
 
 Tat an't why I cry. 
 Mamma stays up bedroom — 
 
 Guess he makes her sick; 
 Frow him in ze gutter, 
 
 If I can, right quick. 
 Cuddle him and love him! 
 
 Call him "Bressed sing"! 
 Don't care if my kite an't 
 
 Got a bit of string! 
 Send me off with Biddy 
 
 Every single day. 
 "Be a good boy, Charlie; 
 
 Run away and play." 
 "Sink I ought to love him"! 
 
 No, I won't; so zere. 
 Nassy crying Baby, 
 
 Not got any hair. 
 Got all my nice kisses, 
 
 Got my place in bed; 
 Mean to take my drum-stick, 
 
 And crack him on the head! 
 40 
 
BABY 
 
 SOMETIMES. 
 
 T5 
 
 Q 
 
 CfOMETIMES, dear little one, 
 ^2 I wonder why you came to me; 
 
 Sometimes, dear little one, 
 I wonder what my strength would be 
 If God had not sent you to share 
 
 Whatever triumphs I may win, 
 It you had not been sent to bear 
 
 The shame if I descend to sin — 
 
 Sometimes, dear little one. 
 
 Sometimes, dear little one, 
 Doubt comes to mock me bitterly; 
 
 Sometimes, dear little one, 
 I hear Temptation calling me. 
 If you had not been sent to reap 
 
 The crop I sow, the wheat or tares, 
 I wonder if I might not weep 
 As weaklings do beneath their cares — 
 
 Sometimes, dear little one. — S. E. Kiser. 
 
 ¥ * * 
 
 HE greatest regard is due to a child. 
 
 — Juvenal. 
 ¥ * ^ 
 
 HILDREN know, 
 Instinctive taught, the friend and foe. 
 
 — Sir Walter Scott. 
 * * ♦ 
 
 E knows not love who has no children. 
 
 — Old Saying. 
 
 41 
 
BABY 
 
 DOT BABY OFF MINE. 
 
 ^|\INE cracious! mine cracious! shust look here and 
 " * s see 
 
 A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe, 
 Der beoples all dink dot no prains I haf got, 
 Vos gra^y mit trinking, or someding like dot; 
 Id vasn't pecause I trinks lager und vine, 
 Id vas all on aggount off dot baby off mine. 
 
 Dot schmall leedle vellow I dells you vas qveer; 
 Not mooch pigger roundt as a goot glass of beer r 
 Mit a barefooted hed, and nose but a schpeck, 
 A mout dat goes most to der pack off his neck, 
 Und his leedle pink toes mid der rest all combine 
 To gif sooch a charm to dot baby off mine. 
 
 I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys, 
 Und beats leedle Yawcop for making a noise; 
 He shust has pecun to shbeak goot English, too, 
 Says "mamma," und "bapa," und somedimes "ah 
 
 —goo!" m , 
 
 You don'd find a baby den dimes out off nine 
 Dot vos quite so shmart as dot baby off mine. 
 
 He grawls der vloor ofer, und drows dings aboudt, 
 
 Und poots efryding he can find in his moiit; 
 
 He dumbles der shtairs down, und falls vrom his 
 
 chair, 
 Und gifs mine Katarina von derrible schkare; 
 Mine hair shtands like shquills on a mat borcubine 
 Ven I dinks off dose pranks off dot baby off mine. 
 
 42 
 
BABY 
 
 Dere vas someding, you pet, I don'd likes pooty veil; 
 To hear in der nighdt-times dot young Deutscher 
 
 yell, 
 
 Und dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es 
 Virile der chills down der shpine off mine pack 
 
 quickly goes; 
 Dose leedle shimnasdickle dricks vasn't fine, 
 Dot I cuts oop at nighdt mid dot baby off mine. 
 
 Veil, dese leedle schafers vas goin' to pe men, 
 Und all off dese droubles vill pe ofer den; 
 Dey vill vare a vhite shirt-vront inshted off a bib, 
 Und vouldn't got tucked oop at nighdt in deir crib — 
 Veil! veil! ven I'm feeple und in life's decline, 
 May mine oldt age pe cheered py dot baby off mine! 
 
 — Charles Follen Adams. 
 
 T5 
 
 9 * 9 
 
 IT worst thing about a new baby is its mother's 
 singin'. 
 
 — Kin Hubbard. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 '7TCEW watch the bud on yure rosebush, tew ketch 
 ^-J the fust notes ov yure songbird, tew hear the warm 
 praze ov kind frends, and tew giv up yure hours tew 
 the treazure — tiz this that makes the fust baby a gift 
 that Angels hav brought you. 
 
 — Josh Billings. 
 
 43 
 
BABY 
 
 THE LITTLE ONES. 
 
 H LITTLE smile that trembles out 
 As though it knew not what to seek; 
 A little hand that frets about 
 Until it rests against your cheek. 
 
 A little soul that is so new 
 The angel-stuff 'tis fashioned of 
 Thrills in the little heart so true 
 It has no room for aught but love. 
 
 The little ones — Ah, who can say 
 How very much they cheer and bless! 
 They are so helpful every day 
 Because of all their helplessness. 
 
 * * ^ 
 
 "-OOYS will be boys." "And even that," I inter- 
 **^ posed, "wouldn't matter if we could only prevent 
 girls from being girls." 
 
 — Anthony Hope. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 Y^iHERE children are not, Heaven is not. 
 ^^ — Swinburne. 
 
 Q 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 HILDREN are the poor man's riches. 
 
 — Danish Proverb. 
 
 44 
 
BABY 
 
 TO MY INFANT SON. 
 
 'T^THOU happy, happy elf! 
 ^^ (But stop; first let me kiss away that tear.) 
 Thou tiny image of myself, 
 (My love, he's poking pease into his ear.) 
 Thou merry, laughing sprite 
 With spirits feather-light; 
 Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin — 
 (My dear, the child is swallowing a pin!) 
 
 Thou little tricksy Puck! 
 
 With antic toys so funnily bestuck, 
 
 Light as the singing bird that rings the air — 
 
 (The door! The door! He'll tumble down the stair!) 
 
 Thou darling of thy sire! 
 
 (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) 
 
 Thou imp of mirth and joy; 
 
 In love's dear chain so bright a link; 
 
 The idol of thy parents — (Drat the boy! 
 
 There goes my ink!) 
 
 — Thomas Hood. 
 9 9 * 
 
 BABY LOUISE. 
 
 rM in love with you, baby Louise. 
 With your silken hair, and your soft, blue eyes, 
 And the dreamy wisdom that in them lies, 
 And the faint, sweet smile you brought from the 
 
 skies — 
 God's sunshine, baby Louise. 
 
 — Selected. 
 
 45 
 
BABY 
 
 AVE PUER. 
 
 OBABY fingers toying with my hair, 
 9 Dear tender palms uplifted now in glee, 
 And eyes of tender radiance — what to me 
 Are earthly woes before thy face so fair! 
 
 Thou cam'st when sorrow couched me; from the void 
 Of dull despair I heard thy joyous feet, 
 And caught thy laugh, so rippling, pure and 
 sweet: 
 
 As in a dream I felt my griefs subside. 
 
 Mine, yet not mine, earthborn, yet wandering 
 
 From some bright world that hath no semblance 
 
 here, 
 Some star-like realm, some glad, ethereal sphere 
 
 Where hope dies not, and it is always Spring! 
 
 What can we do to keep thee with us, Sweet? 
 
 How may our hearts respond aright to thine? 
 
 Thou makest life and daily toil divine: 
 Oh, with glad tears I stoop to kiss thy feet! 
 
 — George F. Butler. 
 
 46 
 
BABY 
 
 OUR LITTLE ONES. 
 
 *7^rHEY are such tiny feet 
 ^^ That have gone such a little way to meet 
 The years which are required to break 
 Their steps to evenness, and make 
 Them go 
 
 More sure and slow. 
 They are such little hands. 
 
 Be kind. Things are so new, and life but stands 
 A step beyond the doorway. All around 
 New day has found 
 
 Such tempting things to shine upon, and so 
 The hands are tempted hard, you know. 
 They are such new, young lives; 
 Surely their newness shrives 
 Them well of many sins. They see so much 
 That being immortal they would touch, 
 That if they reach 
 We must not chide, but teach. 
 They are such fair, frail gifts; 
 Uncertain as the rifts 
 Of light that lie along the sky — 
 They may not be here bye and bye — 
 Give them not love, but more — above 
 And harder — patience with the love. 
 
 — George Klingle. 
 
 H 
 
 * ^ * 
 
 CHILD is a cupid become visible. 
 
 — Novalis. 
 
 47 
 
BABY 
 
 TO AN INFANT. 
 
 'jp^HOU little stranger whom I gaze upon 
 ^-^ Sleeping so softly and unconsciously, 
 What can the mission be which thou art on, 
 Thou who didst arrive so auspiciously? 
 If care be ta'en of thee judiciously 
 Wilt thou remain among us many years — < 
 
 Brightening her future life deliciously, 
 Whose semblance in thy tiny form appears? 
 Canst thou bring back, congealed to pearls of joy, 
 her tears? 
 
 Wilt thou remember the sweet lullaby, 
 When loftier music shall entreat thine ear? 
 Oh, canst thou e'er forget the melody ^ 
 
 Of the soft voice that charmed thee sleeping here? 
 The mother's voice, the tend'rest and most dear 
 That thou shalt ever hearken to; tho' shrill 
 And wild all else may grow, hers will be clear; 
 Though cold distress should hush devotion's thrill 
 In every other heart, hers burneth tender still. 
 
 How still thou liest here in calm repose, 
 While thy existence many know not of; 
 But soon the sweetness of the budding rose 
 Will steal abroad, its own heraldic dove. 
 And to behold thee more than one will rove; 
 And many more will cast upon thy shrine 
 Tributes to gain the favor of thy love; 
 For thee will be invoked the sacred Nine — 
 But in a scale so rich, what weighs a gift of mine? 
 
 48 
 
15 
 
 BABY 
 
 Thou sleepest — I let fall the coverlet, 
 The selfish hope unuttered which I came 
 Here to rekindle. Ah! why linger yet 
 Upon the sight of these to feed the flame? 
 I have to thy regard too slight a claim! 
 Though near in tie of blood we're drawn, it seems 
 Blood proveth nothing but a hollow name — 
 Blood wins not love, though it should gush in 
 
 streams ! 
 Sleep! I'll away to mine and leave thee to thy 
 
 dreams. —Hugh A. Wetmore. 
 
 9 9 * 
 
 N praising or loving a child, we love and praise not 
 that which is, but that which we hope for. 
 
 — Goethe. 
 9 9 9 
 
 HE smallest children are nearest God, as the 
 
 smallest planets are nearest the sun. 
 
 — Richter. 
 9 9 9 
 
 YYiHERE children are, there is the golden age. 
 
 — Novalis. 
 9 9 9 
 
 ON parent knees, a naked, new-born child, 
 Weeping thou sat'st, while all around thee 
 smiled. 
 So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep, 
 Calm thou may'st smile, while all around thee 
 
 weep. —Sir W. Jones. 
 
 49 
 
BABY 
 
 TO MY GODSON ROBERT, AGED ONE. 
 
 ^reTflDE eyes gray-blue 
 ^^ And hair spun silk, 
 Pink roses two 
 
 On cheeks like milk. 
 
 A little tear, 
 
 A tiny sob, 
 A gurgle — hear 
 
 My godson Rob! 
 
 Who smiles all day 
 
 When not asleep 
 Or — well-a-day ! — 
 
 How he can weep! 
 
 A rosebud lip, 
 
 A sea-shell ear, 
 A blossoming slip 
 
 Exceeding dear; 
 
 A little lad, 
 
 A tiny boy, 
 Much like his dad 
 
 In loving joy; 
 
 A youthful limb 
 
 From a good tree, 
 And I love him, 
 
 And he loves me. 
 
 -Wallace Rice. 
 
 50 
 
BABY 
 
 BABY MAY. 
 
 aHEEKS as soft as July peaches; 
 Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches 
 Poppies paleness; round large eyes 
 Ever great with new surprise; 
 Minutes filled with shadeless gladness; 
 Minutes just as brimmed with sadness; 
 Lights and shadows, swifter born 
 Than on wind-swept autumn corn. 
 
 Hands all wants and looks all wonder 
 At all things the heavens under; 
 Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings 
 That have more of love than lovings; 
 Mischief done with such a winning 
 Archness that we prize such sinning; 
 
 Breaking into wisest speeches 
 In a tongue that nothing teaches, 
 All the thoughts of whose possessing 
 Must be wooed to light by guessing; 
 Slumbers — such sweet angel-seeming 
 That we'd ever have thee dreaming; 
 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 o'er with gladness; 
 Joy in care; delight in sadness; 
 Loveliness beyond completeness; 
 Sweetness distancing all sweetness; 
 Beauty all that beauty may be — 
 . . . . . That's my baby! 
 
 — William C. Bennett. 
 51 
 
BABY 
 
 A BABY'S SMILE. 
 
 'T^HE world had all seemed dark to him, 
 ^•J The way was rough and lone and wild, 
 The day was hung with clouds and dim — 
 Until, forsooth, a baby smiled. 
 
 A baby smiled into his face — 
 
 The smile of innocence and glee, 
 
 And straightway every gloomy place 
 
 Became the brightest he could see. 
 
 And he went bravely on his way 
 
 Unmoved by fortune harsh and grim, 
 
 Because to hearten him that day 
 
 A baby had but smiled at him. 
 
 — Unidentified.^ 
 
 * * * 
 
 CTLEEP, little baby of mine; 
 ^^ Dear little head, be at rest, 
 For Jesus, like you,!* 
 Was a baby once, too, 
 
 And slept on His own mother's breast. 
 
 Shut, little sleepy brown eyes, 
 
 Night and the darkness are near — 
 
 But Jesus looks down 
 
 Through the shadows that frown, 
 And baby has nothing to fear. 
 
 — Lidlaby. 
 
 52 
 
 , : 
 
BABY 
 
 OH, what would the world be to us 
 If the children were no more! 
 We should dread the desert behind us 
 Worse than the dark before. 
 
 — Longfellow. 
 * * * 
 
 'jp^HE children of others we never love so much as 
 ^•J our own. Error, our own child, is so near our 
 own heart. 
 
 — Goethe. 
 9 9 9 
 
 'Tt^HE childhood shows the man 
 ^■^ As morning shows the day. 
 
 — Milton. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 "IT/ET thy child's first lesson be obedience, and the 
 J-< second will be what thou wilt. 
 
 — Ben Franklin. 
 9*9 
 
 XITJHEN thy father is too fondly kind, 
 **' Such seed he sows, such harvest shall he find. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 ? ? 9 
 
 ^JDUCATION commences at the mother's knee, 
 ^A and every word spoken within the hearing of 
 little children tends toward the formation of character. 
 
 — Hosea Ballou. 
 
 53 
 
BABY 
 
 AD DOROTHEAM. 
 
 (Written by the Hon. W. E. Gladstone to his baby 
 granddaughter. ) 
 
 I KNOW where there is honey in a jar 
 Meet for a certain little friend of mine; 
 And, Dorothy, I know where daisies are 
 
 That only wait small hands to intertwine 
 A wreath for such a golden head as thine. 
 
 The thought that thou art coming makes all glad; 
 
 The house is bright with blossoms high and low, 
 And many a little lass and little lad 
 
 Expectantly are running to and fro; 
 
 The fire within our hearts is all aglow. 
 
 We want thee, child, to share in our delight 
 On this high day, the holiest and best, 
 
 Because 'twas then, ere youth had taken flight, 
 Thy grandmama, of women loveliest, 
 Made me of men most honored and most blest. 
 
 The naughty boy who led thee to suppose 
 
 He was thy sweetheart, has, I grieve to tell, 
 
 Been seen to pick the garden's choicest rose 
 And toddle with it to another belle, 
 Who does not treat him altogether well. 
 
 But mind not that; or let it teach thee this — 
 To waste no love on any youthful rover. 
 
 (All youths are rovers, I assure you, Miss!) 
 
 No, if thou wouldst true constancy discover, 
 Thy grandpa is as perfect as a lover. 
 
 54 
 
 
o 
 
 BABY 
 
 So come, thou playmate of my closing day, 
 The latest treasure life can offer me, 
 
 And with thy baby laughing make us gay. 
 
 Thy fresh young voice shall sing, my Dorothy, 
 Songs that shall bid the feel of sorrow flee. 
 
 THE SLUMBERLAND BOAT. 
 
 ^^HERE'S a boat that leaves at half-past six 
 ^■^ From the busy port of Play, 
 And it reaches the haven of Slumberland 
 Before the close of day. 
 
 It carries the tiniest passengers, 
 
 And it rocks so gently, oh! 
 When the wee ones nestle in their berths 
 
 And the boatman begins to row. 
 
 The name of the boat is Rock-a-By 
 And it's guided by mother's hand, 
 
 For she is the patient boatman, dear, 
 'Who takes you to Slumberland. 
 
 Now, what is the fare a traveler pays 
 
 On a Rock-a-By boat like this ? 
 Why, the poorest child can afford the price, 
 
 For it's only a good-night kiss. 
 
 — Emeline Goodrow. 
 
'0 
 
 BABY 
 
 "XT BABY may grow up to be president; and it 
 s~*% may grow up to be a candidate for vice-presi- 
 dent — but we should always hope for the best. 
 
 — Current Philosophy. 
 
 9 * * 
 
 fPARE the rod, and spoil the child," 
 Said Solomon with weighty nod. 
 But Solomon that day was riled — 
 
 His child had spoiled his fishing rod. 
 
 — Jefferson Toombs. 
 9 9 9 
 
 " T^iH. most aggravatin' thing in th. world is to be 
 
 ^^ interrupted while tellin' about your baby by 
 
 some one who wants to tell how cute his pet dog is." 
 
 — Mrs. Motherkin. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 ^HE baby knows the budding rose, 
 And nods unto the morning glory; 
 Each little breeze that gently blows 
 
 Is telling baby all its story. 
 The bluebird singing in the sky, 
 
 The bee that buzzes on pell-mell, 
 Calls to the baby, passing by — 
 
 But baby will not ever tell. — Anon. 
 * * * 
 
 "XITjMOST any man can tell you of the two perfect 
 7~** babies of the world. One was himself when he 
 was little; the other is his new baby. 
 
 \ : — From a Toast. 
 
 5G 
 
 T5' 
 
BABY 
 
 REST. 
 
 / 7^HE night is wild and weird and chill — 
 ^^ Rest, little one, rest; 
 Our hearth is bright beneath the hill — 
 Rest, little one, rest. 
 
 Thy father's earned thy bread to-day — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest. 
 The moon shines on his homeward way — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest. 
 
 Stout and brave in the winter storm — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest; 
 The firewood grows to keeo thee warm — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest. 
 
 Down from the blue above thy head — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest; 
 A wild-goose came to make thy bed — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest. 
 
 The dun cow's milk is in thy cup — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest; 
 Thou may'st drink when the morning star is up — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest. 
 
 Nay, stir not at the wind's alarms — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest; 
 The world is cradled in Love's strong arms — 
 
 Rest, little one, rest. 
 
 — Mary F. Butts. 
 
 57 
 
BABY 
 
 ' | 
 
 KIS cares are eased with intervals of bliss: 
 His little children, climbing for a kiss, 
 Welcome their father's late return at night. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 ¥ * * 
 
 lTy-ANGUAGE was not powerful enough to describe 
 J-< the infant phenomenon. A 
 
 — Charles Dickens. 
 
 * * * 
 
 OH, hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight, 
 Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright. 
 The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, 
 They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee. 
 
 —Sir Walter Scott. I 
 
 * * * 
 
 lr"/-TTTLE children are still the symbol of the eternal 
 J-< marriage between love and duty. 
 
 — George Eliot. 
 ¥ ¥ * 
 
 "7^iHE child's sob curseth deeper in the silence 
 ^^ Than the strong man in his wrath. 
 
 — Elizabeth Barret Browning. 
 
 ¥ * * 
 
 BEGIN, auspicious boy, to cast about 
 Thy infant eyes, and with a smile thy mother 
 single out. —Dryden. 
 
 58 
 
BABY 
 
 OUR WEE WHITE ROSE. 
 
 H 1 
 
 LL in our marriage garden 
 Grew, smiling up to God, 
 A bonnier flower than ever 
 
 Suckt the green warmth of the sod; 
 0, beautiful unfathomably 
 
 Its little life unfurled; 
 * And crown of all things was our wee 
 
 White Rose of all the world. 
 
 From out a balmy bosom 
 
 Our bud of beauty grew; 
 It fed on smiles for sunshine, 
 
 On tears for daintier dew; 
 Aye nestling warm and tenderly, 
 ) Our leaves of love were curled 
 
 So close and close about our wee 
 White Rose of all the world. 
 
 — Gearld M asset/. 
 * * * 
 
 'J^HE little strong embrace 
 
 ^-J Of prattling children, twined around his neck, 
 And emulous to please him, calling forth 
 The fond parental soul. 
 
 — Thomson. 
 ¥ ¥ ¥ 
 
 '7^HE babe had all that infant care beguiles, 
 ^^ And early knew his mother in her smiles; 
 At his first aptness the maternal love 
 Those rudiments of reason did improve. 
 
 — Dry den. 
 
 59 
 
BABY 
 
 XX 
 
 A BABE. 
 
 OOK, look into my face, thou babe 
 Of light and joy! I am more near 
 To Truth and Love 
 When thou art here. 
 
 Wild longings stir within my breast, 
 Beholding thee so fair, so pure: 
 Thou art my dream 
 That must endure. 
 
 Thy soft brown hair, thy eyes of blue, 
 Dispel all earthly pain and care — 
 As sunrays chase 
 The dark despair. 
 
 —George F. Butler. 
 * ♦ * 
 
 c 
 
 IS life I gave him, and did thereto add 
 My love, without retention or restraint. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 9 * * 
 
 H 
 
 ax 
 
 FELLER with long whiskers alius hates to hold 
 a baby. 
 
 — Kin Hubbard. 
 
 * + + 
 
 OTHER is the name for God in the lips and 
 hearts of little children. 
 
 — Thackeray. 
 
 60 
 
BABY 
 
 TOTTY'S ARITHMETIC. 
 
 ONE little head, worth its whole weight 
 in gold, 
 Over and over, a million times told. 
 Two shining eyes, full of innocent glee, 
 Brighter than diamonds ever could be. 
 Three pretty dimples, for fun to slip in, 
 Two in the cheeks and one in the chin. 
 Four lily fingers on each baby hand, 
 Fit for a princess of sweet fairy land. 
 Five on each hand if we reckon Tom Thumb, 
 Standing beside them, so stiff and so glum! 
 Six pearly teeth just within her red lips, 
 Over which merriment ripples and trips. 
 Seven bright ringlets, as yellow as gold, 
 Seeming the sunshine to gather and hold. 
 Eight tiny waves running over her hair, 
 Sunshine and shadow, they love to be there. 
 Nine precious words that Totty can say; 
 But she will learn new ones every day. 
 Ten little chubby, comical toes; 
 And that is as far as this lesson goes. 
 
 — (St. Nicholas.) 
 
 JT SIMPLE child 
 7^> That lightly draws its breath 
 And feels its life in every limb — 
 What should it know of death? 
 
 — Wordsworth. 
 
 61 
 
BABY 
 
 BAPPY the child whose mother is tired of talking 
 nonsense to him before he is old enough to know 
 the sense of it. — Hare. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 ♦T^HE clew of our destiny, wander where we will, 
 ^J lies at the foot of the cradle. 
 
 — Richter. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 Y^lEVER fear spoiling children by making them too 
 
 -W happy. —Bray. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 QHILDREN have more need of models than of 
 critics. —Joubert. 
 
 * * * 
 
 QHILDREN are GodVapostles, sent forth, day by 
 day, to preach of love and hope and peace. 
 
 — James Russell Lowell. 
 
 9 9 9 
 
 ^i l HO is not attracted by bright and pleasant chil- 
 ^*s dren, to prattle, to creep and play with them? 
 
 — Epictetus. 
 9 9 9 
 
 'J^HE nurse's legends are for truth received, 
 *** And the man dreams but what the boy believed. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 
 62 
 
BABY 
 
 THE BABY. 
 
 "VWYHO ate the paint off father's chair ? 
 
 W Likewise a cushion stuffed with hair, 
 With guileless and uncrafty air ? 
 The Baby. 
 
 Who chewed the edge off father's hat ? 
 Likewise each curtain in our flat, 
 And tried her best to chew the cat ? 
 The Baby. 
 
 Who was it that with chortles gay, 
 Devoured the paper yesterday, 
 And cried when it was snatched away ? 
 The Baby. 
 
 Who feeds on magazines and books, 
 And tacks picked up in hidden nooks, 
 And pins, shoe-horns, and button-hooks ? 
 The Baby. 
 
 But who must at all meals be fed, 
 On milk alone, not meat nor bread, 
 She couldn't stand such food, 'tis said ? 
 The Baby. 
 
 — George Fitch. 
 
 * # $ 
 
 BOR the hand that rocks the cradle 
 Is the hand that rules the world. 
 
 — William Ross Wallace. 
 
 63 
 
BABY 
 
 THE BABIES. 
 
 (With amends to the author of "The Ladies.") 
 
 I HAVE met with fond mothers and fathers — 
 They have bored me, ah, many's the time — 
 There's Smith who full oft has repeated 
 
 The tale of his youngling's first climb — 
 Who has checked off his infant's cute sayings 
 
 And cackled anew o'er each whim, 
 For Smith was the proudest of parents, 
 And I learned about babies from him. 
 
 There's Jones who came down in the morning 
 
 And cornered me oft in the car, 
 With him there was only one topic, 
 
 All others had sunk below par; 
 His babble of babes was quite endless — 
 
 My eyes would grow glassy and dim 
 As he purled, like a Tennyson brooklet, 
 
 And I learned about babies from him. 
 
 But now sweet revenge is my portion; 
 
 The Jones and Smith juniors are grown, 
 While I — Oh, the unbounded rapture! — 
 
 Have a youngster, brand-new, of my own; 
 All in vain are their efforts at dodging — 
 
 I corner them now in great glee, 
 And they suffer the things that I suffered 
 
 As they learn about babies from me! 
 
 — Arthur Chapman. 
 
 64 
 


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