Part 1

Produced by Al Haines.

A MOTHER'S YEAR-BOOK

EDITED BY FRANCIS McKINNON MORTON AND MARY McKINNON McSWAIN

NEW YORK THOMAS Y CROWELL COMPANY PUBLISHERS

_Copyright, 1911,_ BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY.

*PREFACE*

This little volume has been compiled for mothers and is lovingly offered as a tribute to the memory of the almost perfect mother whose love cradled my own childhood so sweetly as to make all motherhood forever more dear to me.

It seems to be true that the years of a woman's life that sink deepest into her heart and are fraught with her keenest joy and pain are the years when her little children are clinging about her skirts. Then it is that she is truly "wealthy with small cares, and small hands clinging to her knees." But then, too, she is often too busy with the passing of the full days and the long nights, so often punctuated by the restless clinging of rosy fingers and all the dear demands of babyhood, to realize fully how blest are the days through which she is living.

It is especially for the busy mother that I have gathered this little collection of beautiful thoughts about childhood and motherhood, from some of the world's best thinkers.

I hope it may bring to some of them as much pleasure in the reading as it has to me in the preparation.

The selections from the writings of Lucy Larcom, Holmes, Whittier, Longfellow, Emerson, Lowell, Celia Thaxter, and Edith Thomas are used by the courteous permission of the authorized publishers of these writers, the Houghton Mifflin Company.

The selections from the writings of Robert Louis Stevenson are from "A Child's Garden of Verses."

The selection from Sidney Lanier is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier." Both are published by Charles Scribner's Sons and the selections are used by permission of that firm. The little poem from Eugene Field is also used by special arrangement with Charles Scribner's Sons, the authorized publishers of the works of Eugene Field.

The selections from the book called "The Finest Baby in the World" are used by the courtesy of its publishers, the Fleming H. Revell Company.

The selection from Ruth McEnery Stuart is taken from "Napoleon Jackson," published by the Century Company, and is used with their permission.

The selection from the writings of Lewis Carroll is taken from the "Adventures of Alice in Wonderland" and is used by permission of the publishers, the Macmillan Company.

Acknowledgment is also made to the Bobbs-Merrill Company for the use of the selections from the writings of James Whitcomb Riley, and to D. Appleton & Co. for the selections from Bryant.

Acknowledgment is due the courtesy of the New York _Sun_ and the Denver _News_ for the use of the selections credited to them.

An effort has been made to find the name and the author of each selection used so that proper credit could be given with each. This has not been always possible and I have chosen not to leave out a beautiful selection on that account.

George MacDonald says, "He who drops a beautiful thought into the heart of a friend gives as the angels do"; and Emerson says that "Next to the originator of a beautiful thought is the one who first quotes it." So I do not think that any one who has said anything beautiful about childhood would wish to be left out of a Mother's Year Book even if the credit for his work was not given quite correctly.

FRANCIS MCKINNON MORTON.

*JANUARY*

JANUARY FIRST

Where did you come from, Baby Dear? Out of the Everywhere into the here. . . . . . . . . But how did you come to us, you Dear? God thought of you and so I am here. _George MacDonald_

JANUARY SECOND

What is the dream in the Baby's eyes As he lies and blinks in a mute surprise? . . . . . . . . Bathed in the dawnlight, what does he see That slow years have hidden from you and from me? _Tom Cordry_

JANUARY THIRD

Little Life from out the life Divine, Little heart so near and dear to mine, Little bark, new-launched upon Life's sea Floating o'er the tide to mine and me, Little comer on our shore of time, Little ray from out God's great sublime, Little traveller from Eternity May my love protect and shelter thee. _The Denver News_

JANUARY FOURTH

What shall we wrap the Baby in? Nothing that fingers have woven will do: Looms of the heart weave ever anew: Love, only Love is the right thread to spin Love we must wrap the Baby in. _Lucy Larcom_

JANUARY FIFTH

Look at me with thy large brown eyes, Philip, my King! For round thee the purple shadow lies Of babyhood's regal 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! _Dinah Mulock Craik_

JANUARY SIXTH

Nay, but our children in our midst, What else but our hearts are they, Walking on the ground? If but the breeze blew harsh on one of them, Mine eye says "No" to slumber all night long. _From the "Hamasah"_ _Hittan idnibn al-Mu'alla of Tayyi_

JANUARY SEVENTH

We must take all our children bring us whether it be Joy or Pain. _Auerbach_

JANUARY EIGHTH

Oh child, what news from Heaven? _Swinburne_

JANUARY NINTH

Sweet floweret, pledge o' meikle love, And ward o' mony a prayer, What heart o' stane wad thou na move, Sae helpless, sweet and fair? _Robert Burns_

JANUARY TENTH

His child's unsullied purity demands The deepest reverence at a parent's hands. _Juvenal_

JANUARY ELEVENTH

Little Gossip, blithe and hale, Tattling many a broken tale, Singing many a tuneless song, Lavish of a heedless tongue, Simple maid, void of art, Babbling out thy very heart. _Ambrose Phillips_

JANUARY TWELFTH

O child! O new-born denizen Of Life's great city! On thy head The glory, of the morn is shed Like a celestial benison. _Longfellow_

JANUARY THIRTEENTH

Ah! This taking to one's arms a little group of souls, fresh from the hand of God, and living with them in loving companionship through all their stainless years is, or ought to be, like living in Heaven, for of such is the Heavenly Kingdom. _J. G. Holland_

JANUARY FOURTEENTH

The sun of dawn, That brightens through the mother's tender eyes. _Tennyson_

JANUARY FIFTEENTH

We are so dull and thankless; and too slow To catch the sunshine till it slips away, And now it seems surpassing strange to me That while I wore the badge of Motherhood, I did not kiss more oft and tenderly The little child that brought me only good. _Mary Louise Riley Smith_

JANUARY SIXTEENTH

Children are God's apostles, day by day Sent forth to preach of Love and Hope and Peace. _Lowell_

JANUARY SEVENTEENTH

She has forgotten her sufferings for joy that the child is born. _Kipling_

JANUARY EIGHTEENTH

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. Like rose-hued sea flowers, toward the heart They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet. _Swinburne_

JANUARY NINETEENTH

Greek babies were like the babies of modern Europe: equally troublesome, equally delightful to their parents, equally uninteresting to the rest of society. _Mahaffy_

JANUARY TWENTIETH

They knew as I do now, what keen delight A strong man feels to watch the tender flight Of little children playing in his sight. _Edmund Gosse_

JANUARY TWENTY-FIRST

The child would twine A trustful hand, unasked in thine And find his comfort in thy face. _Tennyson_

JANUARY TWENTY-SECOND

This little seed of life and love, Just lent us for a day. _Parsons_

JANUARY TWENTY-THIRD

Pray for the infant's soul: With its spirit crown unsoiled. _Philip James Bailey_

JANUARY TWENTY-FOURTH

Child of brighter than the morning's birth, And lovelier than all smiles that may be smiled Save only of little children undefiled, Sweet, perfect, witless of their own dear worth, Like rose of love, mute melody of mirth, Glad as a bird is when the woods are mild, Adorable as is nothing save a child, Hails with wide eyes and lips on earth, His lovely life with all its heaven to be. _Swinburne_

JANUARY TWENTY-FIFTH

Where has he gone to, Mother's boy, Little plaid dresses and curls of joy? Who is this Gentleman, haughty in glance Walking around in a new pair of pants? _Folger McKinsey_

JANUARY TWENTY-SIXTH

It is very nice to think The world is full of meat and drink, With little children saying grace In every Christian kind of place. _Robert Louis Stevenson_

JANUARY TWENTY-SEVENTH

Did truth on earth ever hide, Hath innocence anywhere smiled, Did purity anywhere bide, They are found in the eyes of a child. _Harry Alexander Moore_

JANUARY TWENTY-EIGHTH

Now he thinks he 'll go to sleep: I can see the shadows 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 is hushed in sweet repose! _J. G. Holland_

JANUARY TWENTY-NINTH

To what shall I liken her smiling Upon me, her kneeling lover? How it leaped from her lips to her eyelids, And dimpled her wholly over, Till her outstretched hands smiled also And I almost seem to see The very heart of her mother Sending sun, through her veins, to me. _Lowell_

JANUARY THIRTIETH

Innocent child and snow-white flower, Well are ye paired in your opening hour!

_Reprinted from Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, by permission of D. Appleton & Company._

JANUARY THIRTY-FIRST

Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said, For ye are living poems And all the rest are dead. _Longfellow_

*FEBRUARY*

FEBRUARY FIRST

I wonder so that mothers ever fret At little children clinging to their gown; Or that the footprints, when the days are wet Are ever black enough to make them frown, If I could find a little muddy boot, Or cap or jacket on my chamber floor, If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot And hear it patter in my house once more; If I could mend a broken cart to-day, To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky-- There is no woman in God's world could say She was more blissfully content than I. _Mary Louise Riley Smith_

FEBRUARY SECOND

The very souls of children readily receive the impressions of those things that are dropped into them while they are yet but soft. _Plutarch_

FEBRUARY THIRD

As babes will sigh for deep content When their sweet hearts for peace make room, As given, not lent. _Jean Ingelow_

FEBRUARY FOURTH

Childhood soberly she wears, Taking hold of woman's cares Through love's outreach, unawares. _Lucy Larcom_

FEBRUARY FIFTH

I searched for love through many a weary mile, Till, sick and weary, to my homestead turning Thou earnest to greet me with a mother's smile And there upon thy dearest features burning I saw that love I long had sought in vain. _Heine_

FEBRUARY SIXTH

And still the children listed, their blue eyes Fixed on their mother's face in wide surprise. _Matthew Arnold_

FEBRUARY SEVENTH

So we will not sell the Baby! Your gold and gems and stuff, Were they ever so rare and precious Would never be half enough! For what would we care, My Dearie, What glory the world put on, If our beautiful darling was going, If our beautiful darling was gone. _Selected_

FEBRUARY EIGHTH

The happy children! Full of frank surprise, And sudden whims and innocent ecstacies: What Godhead sparkles from their liquid eyes. _Edmund Gosse_

FEBRUARY NINTH

In him woke With his first babe's first cry, the noble wish To save all earnings to the uttermost, And give his child a better bringing up Than his had been, or hers. _Tennyson_

FEBRUARY TENTH

Children have more need of models than of critics. _Joubert_

FEBRUARY ELEVENTH

I wait for my story--the birds cannot sing it, Not one as he sits on his tree; The bells can not ring it, but long years oh, bring it Such as I wish it to be. _Jean Ingelow_

FEBRUARY TWELFTH

Thou who didst not erst deny The mother-joy to Mary mild, Blessed in the blessed child. Which hearkened in meek babyhood Her cradle hymn, albeit used To all that music interfused In breasts of angels high and good. _Mrs. Browning_

FEBRUARY THIRTEENTH

So sits the while at home the mother well content. _Robert Louis Stevenson_

FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH

What use to me the gold and silver hoard? What use to me the gems most rich and rare? Brighter by far--aye, bright beyond compare, The joys my children to my heart afford. _From the Japanese_

FEBRUARY FIFTEENTH

Never to living ears came sweeter sounds Than when I heard thee, by our own fireside First uttering, without words, a natural tune While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy Sing at thy mother's breast. _Wordsworth_

FEBRUARY SIXTEENTH

A woman lives Not bettered, quickened toward the truth and good Through being a mother? _Mrs. Browning_

FEBRUARY SEVENTEENTH

One's early life is certainly a great deal more amusing to look back to than it used to be while it was going on. _Anne Thackeray Ritchie_

FEBRUARY EIGHTEENTH

When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose my babe on me; So may thy mother and thy nurse Thy cradle also be. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy. _Anonymous_

FEBRUARY NINETEENTH

Ere thy lips learn, too soon, Their soft, first human tune, Sweet, but less sweet than now, And thy raised eyes to read Glad and good things indeed, But none so sweet as thou. _Swinburne_

FEBRUARY TWENTIETH

Beat upon mine, little heart! beat! beat! Beat upon mine! You are mine, my sweet! All mine, from your pretty blue eyes to your feet. _Tennyson_

FEBRUARY TWENTY-FIRST

What is the little one thinking about? Very wonderful things no doubt! Unwritten history! Unfathomed mystery! _J. G. Holland_

FEBRUARY TWENTY-SECOND

The real education of children is to keep them at work and make them unselfish. _Ambrosias_

FEBRUARY TWENTY-THIRD

Then be contented. Thou hast got The most of Heaven in thy young lot; There's sky blue in thy cup. _Hood_

FEBRUARY TWENTY-FOURTH

Her infancy, a wonder-working charm, Laid hold upon his love. _Jean Ingelow_

FEBRUARY TWENTY-FIFTH

So for the mother's sake the child was dear, And dearer was the mother for the child. _S. T. Coleridge_

FEBRUARY TWENTY-SIXTH

A kiss when the day is over, A kiss when the day begins, My mamma's as full of kisses As a nurse is full of pins. _Selected_

FEBRUARY TWENTY-SEVENTH

The child-heart is so strange a little thing, So mild, so timorously shy and small, When grown-up hearts throb, it goes scampering Behind the wall, nor dares peer out at all! It is the veriest mouse That hides in any house! So wild a thing is any child-heart! _James Whitcomb Riley_

_From "A Child World." Copyright, 1897. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._

FEBRUARY TWENTY-EIGHTH

Out of the dark, sweet sleep Where no dreams laugh or weep, Borne through the bright gates of birth Into the dim sweet light Where day still dreams of night, While heaven takes form on earth. _Swinburne_

FEBRUARY TWENTY-NINTH

For what are all our contrivings And the wisdom of all our books When compared with your caresses And the gladness of your looks. _Longfellow_

*MARCH*

MARCH FIRST

I am one who holds a treasure And a gem of wondrous cost; But I mar my heart's deep pleasure With the fear it may be lost. . . . . . . . . Then spoke the Angel of mothers To me, in gentle tone, "Be kind to the children of others And thus deserve thine own." _Julia Ward Howe_

MARCH SECOND

Here at the portals thou dost stand And, with thy little hand, Thou openest the mysterious gate Into the future's undiscovered land. _Longfellow_

MARCH THIRD

Like children with violets playing In the shade of the whispering trees. _Charles Kingsley_

MARCH FOURTH

Infancy is the perpetual Messiah, which comes into the arms of fallen men and pleads with them to return to Paradise _Emerson_

MARCH FIFTH

Come to me O ye children! For I hear you at your play And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. _Longfellow_

MARCH SIXTH

A solemn thing it is to me To look upon a babe that sleeps, Wearing in its spirit-deeps The undeveloped mystery Of our Adam's taint and woe, Which, when they developed be, Will not let it slumber so. _Mrs. Browning_

MARCH SEVENTH

Some one had left the gate ajar, Heaven's gate, you know, my dear, And a baby angel winging by Peeped out on a scene most drear.

"Oh me!" he murmured in dulcet tones, "The old Earth needs more light; I guess I 'll fly a little way And carry a sunbeam bright." _Selected_

MARCH EIGHTH

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the interspersed vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought! My babe so beautiful! It thrills my heart With tender gladness thus to look at thee. _S. T. Coleridge_

MARCH NINTH

When I hustle home at evening, And the light shines from the door, An' I see my little baby Rollin' happy on the floor, An' see Sister helpin' Mother, I'm as tickled as can be An' there aint no King a-livin' That has got the best o' me. _Judd Mortimer Lewis_

MARCH TENTH

O blossom boy! So calm in thy repose! So sweet a compromise of life and death, 'Tis pity those fair buds shall e'er unclose For memory to stain their inward leaf, Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief. _Hood_

MARCH ELEVENTH

O let thy children lean aslant Against the tender mother's knee, And gaze into her face, and want To know what magic there can be In words that urge some eyes to dance While others, as in holy trance, Look up to Heaven, be such my praise. _Walter Savage Landor_

MARCH TWELFTH

Oh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep! A tender infant with its curtained eye Breathing as it would neither live nor die With that unchanging countenance of sleep! _Hood_

MARCH THIRTEENTH

Two faces o'er a cradle bent; Two hands above the head were locked, These pressed each other while they rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent. O solemn hour! O hidden power! _George Eliot_

MARCH FOURTEENTH

To see a child so very fair It was a pure delight. _Wordsworth_

MARCH FIFTEENTH

The tree germ bears within itself the nature of the whole tree; the human being bears within itself the nature of all humanity, and is not, therefore, humanity born anew in each child? _Froebel_

MARCH SIXTEENTH

Thoughts of all fair and useful things, The hopes of early years; And childhood's purity and grace, And joys that like a rainbow chase The passing shower of tears. _Bryant_

_Reprinted from Bryant's Complete Poetical Works by special permission, of D. Appleton & Co._

MARCH SEVENTEENTH

Sweet is the holiness of youth. _Wordsworth_

MARCH EIGHTEENTH

All its dainty body, honey sweet, Clenched hands and curled up feet That on the roses of the dawn have trod As they came down from God. _Swinburne_

MARCH NINETEENTH

Within my tender mother's arms I sported, I played at horse upon my grandsire's knee; Sorrow and care and anger, ill-reported, As little known as gold or Greek to me. _Baggesen_

MARCH TWENTIETH

How do you like to go up in a swing Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing Ever a child can do! _Robert Louis Stevenson_

MARCH TWENTY-FIRST

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling! Mother sits beside thee smiling! Sleep my darling, tenderly! If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, Singing as her wheel she turneth; Come soft slumber, balmily. _S. T. Coleridge_

MARCH TWENTY-SECOND

O sweet sleep-angel, throned now On the round glory of his brow! Wave thy wing and waft my vow Breathed over Baby Charley.

I vow that my heart, when death is nigh, Shall never shiver with a sigh For act of hand or tongue or eye That wronged my Baby Charley. _Sidney Lanier_

MARCH TWENTY-THIRD

She seemed a thing Of Heaven's prime uncorrupted work, a child Of early nature undefiled, A daughter of the years of innocence, And, therefore, all things loved her. _Southey_

MARCH TWENTY-FOURTH

Bairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tie Than aught in love the like of us can spy. _Allan Ramsay_

MARCH TWENTY-FIFTH

Slumber little friend so wee, Joy thy joy is bringing. _Bellman_

MARCH TWENTY-SIXTH

Thou straggler into loving arms, Young climber up of knees, When I forget thy thousand ways Then life and all shall cease. _Charles Lamb_

MARCH TWENTY-SEVENTH

Where children are not, heaven is not, and heaven, If they come not again, shall be never! But the face and the voice of a child are assurances of heaven and its promises forever. _Swinburne_

MARCH TWENTY-EIGHTH

O blessed vision! Happy child! Thou art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with many fears For what may be thy lot in future years. _Wordsworth_

MARCH TWENTY-NINTH

And with heaven in their hearts and their faces, Up rose the children all. _Longfellow_

MARCH THIRTIETH

No baby in the house, I know, 'T is far too nice and clean; No toys, by careless fingers strown, Upon the floors are seen. _Clara G. Dolliver_

MARCH THIRTY-FIRST

The simple lessons which the nursery taught Fell soft and stainless on the buds of thought, And the full blossom owes its fairest hue To those sweet tear drops of affection's dew. _Holmes_

*APRIL*

APRIL FIRST

But Jesus said, Suffer the little children to come unto me; for of such is the kingdom of Heaven. _Matt. xix. 14_

APRIL SECOND

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; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps _Tennyson_

APRIL THIRD

My mother she's so good to me, If I was good as I could be, I couldn't be as good--no, sir!-- Can't any boy be as good as her!

She loves me when I'm glad er sad; She loves me when I'm good er bad, An', what's a funniest thing, she says She loves me when she punishes. _James Whitcomb Riley_