Part 2

Sleep, little one! I’ll cradle thee Upon my breast. Thou art to be A glorious saint Before the throne; To sing and praise Our Lord, our own. I know it now; Upon this brow I press so oft With kisses soft, A crown of light Will glitter bright; Forever then I’ll love thee, when On that glad shore, To part no more, I clasp my love Safe, safe above. The covenant Is sure, if I, With faithful hold And courage bold, To Christ draw nigh And teach thy heart The better part.

Sleep, little love: Thy tiny feet Are yet to tread The golden street. And thou wilt glide With angel bands ’Mong starry worlds In fadeless lands; And praising God With harp and voice, Thy mother’s soul Shall then rejoice. O then these years Of pain and tears Will all be fled! Rest, little head, While shadows come About our home; And stars of night Shine down so bright, From that sweet place Where angels sing Of truth and grace. On tireless wing We, too, will rise, O darling one! To yonder skies,— The victory won, The journey done; With joy to stand, Hand clasped in hand, Upon the heights Of true delights, Where music flows In deathless stream; And want and woes, And chilling snows, Like thy short dream, Forever past; Where Jesus Blest Shall lead the throng; And that sweet song Of dying love We’ll sing above. Rest, babe of bliss, On my fond breast; Sweet is thy kiss: O I am blest! Angel unknown, Lord, ’tis Thine own!

THE BAPTISM

This sweet little Lily, this babe of our love, This gift of our Father in glory above,— O Crucified Saviour, we bring her to Thee To make her as pure as the lily to be; Thy Spirit attend her, nor leave her alone. O make her to love Thee and seal her Thine own! Thus may she forever dwell close to Thy breast, And enter all blood-washed, the Heavenly Rest.

ODE TO THE MOON

Pretty Moon, do you remember What was Eve’s first lullaby, When she swung the little hammock As the bird-songs floated by, And you smiled down from the sky?

Lovely Moon, do you remember What was Noah’s anthem sweet That they sang upon the Deluge When the storms had ceased to beat, And the stars looked down to greet?

Lovely Moon, do you remember That sweet song the angels sung When the shepherds of Judea Sang a song for every tongue, And through heaven and earth it rung?

Lovely Moon, you’ve seen these glories: Through the ages thy calm smile Silent keeps the wondrous stories Hidden from our eyes awhile, As we walk this starry isle.

And your lamp is ever burning, Though the clouds it from us hide; Your fair face is always shining, Ever since Eve was a bride And the earth one homestead wide.

Lovely Moon, the baby loves you: Light with silver floods the mist, Light the clouds that try to hide you, Sea and plain and mountain crest; All things smile that thou dost kiss.

THE MOON AND HER STAR

Some evenings fair, there comes a star To cite the beauteous moon afar, And travel close to her bright car; List’ning glad to the song she sings; Watching her spread her silver wings; Learning a chorus to her song; Trimming his lamp as he speeds along.

Whether with oars he paddles the blue, Or whether on lightning wings he flew,— Whether he goes in a boat or car, I cannot see, for he is so far.

PANSIES

Bright the lovely pansies blossomed, Some in purple and in gold; And I wondered at their courage, Facing storms of cloud and cold. Then I asked them of their mission,— Why they came to bless the world; And they laughed and shook the dew-drops From their velvet leaves unfurled, “Oh!” they cried, “we’ve many missions, But the gladdest of them all Is to cheer the little children, And gleam out from fingers small; To shine forth thoughts of God awhile, And draw from baby lips a smile.”

MY BABY

Little pink toes, five in a row, With a soft, velvet patter they go; But that velvet patter is music to me, _My_ baby, _my_ baby!

Oh, ten little, pearly-pink toes, Always go running in two little rows! Each is a beautiful jewel to me, _My_ baby, _my_ baby!

BABY’S CUP

A draught of good fresh milk, though drank From earthen, tin or pewter, Is Nature’s food and medicine, And ever will recruit her Better than all inventions served In cups of golden lining.

If baby should need aught beside The precious milk, pearl-shining, Then give it but the blood of grapes Fresh-pressed from grape or raisin; Blest cup for all the weak and strong; Blest cup for every season.

BE A BABY WHILE YOU CAN

O little man, little man, In the cradle rocking, Soon to study and to plan, Soon to cipher, parse and scan, At door of wisdom knocking; Measuring the mountains high And the worlds that stud the sky,— Sleep and rest, you little man, Be a baby while you can; Gather strength to lead the van.

Baby darling, woman wee, In the cradle rocking, Soon to study and to plan, Soon to cipher, parse and scan; Measuring the mountains high, And the worlds that star the sky; Soon to mend the stocking, Learning then to sew and bake, Also fashion and to make. Dainty baby-fingers, rest; Soon they’ll need to do their best. Dream that all the world is true, Pure as yonder starry-blue; Look at angels while you sleep; See God’s foot-prints in the deep: All the baby hearts are His, And they “see Him as He is.” Be a baby while you can; Gather strength to lead the van.

MOTHER EVE

O Mother Eve, do you never look From the Pearly Gates to the starry nook, Where, glimmering here in the spangled blue, The world shines out that was once for you,— The dear old home of the Eden bowers Where first you lived ’mong the birds and flowers? As you look down on the babies dear, And see their woes and their crying hear, As fed with the food for babies not made, The cheeks grow pale, and the bright hopes fade,— Does your heart cry out, “Not so! Not so Must the babe be fed to be strong and grow: Milk, precious milk, is the wee one’s food, To strengthen the bones and nourish the blood!”

LULLABY OF THE THRUSH

Little brown thrush, are you singing for me, Pouring your song from the crest of the tree? Oh! I’m not worthy of such a sweet tune, Poured from the tree-tops bright mornings in June. Yet warble for me, warble for me!

O, if you’ll sing for me, little brown thrush, I’ll build a nest for you, lined with soft plush; “Ah, that’s not nice enough,” that’s what you say, Waving your pretty wings, soaring away. O warble for me, warble for me!

Little brown thrush, then come, build your own nest Of fine straw and silk, and things you like best; I’ll scatter the down for you, under the tree, To line the nest warm, if you’ll warble for me. O warble for me, warble for me!

BABY’S CHILLY RIDE

Cool the winds were rustling And the light was paling, For the sun was hidden With a fleecy veiling.

Trundling down the sidewalk A baby’s carriage rolled, Canopied with azure And dainty every fold.

Sat the little stranger Sweet as lily white; The cap of gauzy ruffle Let in air and light.

The little wrap was tasteful, Yet ’twas all too thin; The cloak was not a warm one To wrap a baby in.

There it sat,—the angel! Not saying, “I am cold.” I knew that face of beauty Would ne’er on earth grow old.

By all my mother-instincts And mother-wisdom given, I knew that precious baby Was on the road to Heaven.

I thought of half-fledged birdies, The sparrow and the starling; And longed to wrap my mantle About the baby darling.

But on the little carriage Rolled, with its precious freight, As if in haste to land it Within the Pearly Gate.

Had baby been a dolly, With lifeless locks of flax; And had its form been molded Of porcelain or wax,

The fragile cap so gauzy, The dainty cloak so thin, Had been enough of clothing To wrap the dolly in.

But flesh and blood of babies Need something warmer far, Or soon the priceless jewel Like evening’s beauteous star

Will soon shine far above us; And baby’s precious feet Will walk among the angels Along the Golden Street.

BABY’S MEDICINE

Oh! always give to the baby’s mouth The things God made for food; The precious milk or the grape’s fresh juice, Things that the Lord calls “good.”

Blind Folly searched through the east and west, Aye, searched from north to south, To find great drugs of healing power To put in the baby’s mouth.

But they searched in vain! and day and night, Like flocks of birds, towards Heaven The babies went, for they could not stay Where the cruel drugs were given.

And never put to the baby’s lips The food for the stronger made; Or you may weep with a broken heart By its cold bed in the glade.

Feed it food for the babies made, And dress it warm and clean; Give it the purest air to breathe, And the sunlight’s golden sheen.

Like the lilies fair, like the sweet June rose Then shall the baby grow; And the smile of Heaven like a halo rest On the angel lent below.

Give it the love of a holy heart That plans for the life beyond; That mingles prayer with the daily work, And song with caresses fond;

That sweet, glad song that forever lies In the heart as the years sweep on; And tells of the love God has for us, In the gift of His only Son.

BABY’S BATH

If you’ve got it right, there’s a smile on his lips— That water must cover his fat little hips, Coming quite up to his waist. Don’t make him laugh! he will splash if you do, And learn naughty ways, and be troublesome too; Be quiet; don’t be in haste! But if you would be sure Of the temperature, Put your own elbow into the bath.

THE FARMER’S CRADLE SONG

Come, little rain-drops, patter on the corn; Come, little sunbeams, bright in rosy morn; Shine on the wheat-fields, make them golden-sweet, Ready for the brown bread, baby wants to eat.

Come, little dew-drops, make the apples grow, Bellflower and russet, bright with sunset glow. Come, cloud and sunshine, make the rainbow bright, While the grapes’ sweet clusters laugh in delight.

O, blessed Father, give enough for all! Bread for the millions, little folks and tall; Fruits for the wide world, bringing hope and health, Milk and golden butter; ’tis the farmer’s wealth.

Oh! blessed Saviour, with the bounty sweet Make the people praise Thee when they come to eat. May the little children lisp a loving prayer For the countless blessings, and Thy tender care.

When sweet Hosannas by all cradles rise, When love of Jesus shines from children’s eyes; Then earth and Heaven in one glad song will sing, “In the highest, Glory to our Saviour King!”

THE LITTLE FAWN

There in the summer woodland, Down in the quiet glade, Hid in a leafy thicket, Is a little fawn in the shade.

And the wildwood moss is growing About its dry leaf bed; And the vine of the forest swaying Its blossoms overhead.

The mother roe comes often To nurse her baby deer; And she listens, listens, listens, Lest some bold foot come near.

There she dreams with her baby, Till birds of the early dawn Wake the mother from slumber To nurse her dear little fawn.

Who made the glad mother, Who made the wee fawn? Who made the bright birdies To sing at the dawn?

The same Who made baby, The same Who made me; Who calls us and calls us His loved ones to be.

OUR BABY

What do you think that the kitty did When baby was two weeks old, And her eyes were dark, of a pansy blue, And her hair half brown, half gold? Kit put her paws on the baby’s feet, And looked into baby’s eyes; And baby looked into kitty’s face With a curious surprise. She thought that puss was a funny folk, Half black, and yellow half; With eyes of shining greenish gold; And it made the baby laugh.

What do you think that the birdies said In the garden ’mong the trees, As they ate of the berries growing there, And sang in the summer breeze, And built their nests on the leafy boughs Where the baby’s eyes could see? They sang the words that the baby loved; “Twitter-dee, twitter-dee-dee-dee.”

And what do you think that the baby did, When they gathered white sprays, shining, And made a hedge of the cradle side? A hedge with a white-star lining? Why, baby sat like a little queen, In the midst of the circling bower, And smiled as if it were Eden sweet, And she never crushed a flower!

And what do you think that the bright stars did, As the baby peered through the curtain, And peered again with a longing look, To be sure they were shining, certain? The stars just twinkled and twinkled there, As they did to Eve’s own darlings, When their dimpled fingers pointed up To stars of the cloudless evenings.

And how do you think that the baby looked, As we took her out at sunset, And set her down ’mong the tall ripe oats (’Twas before the earth was dew-wet), The baby looked at the golden oats Above and around her growing, And high up into God’s blue sky, As if somebody there were knowing

All about what a place she found Where the nodding oats were playing, And she sweetly smiled in her mother’s face, As that mother’s heart was praying; Praying there for her darling one, That her little feet might never Turn aside from the path that leads Where Christ is the Joy forever.

LILIES

When I wandered ’mong the lilies, Over hill and down the dale; And some bloomed in brilliant scarlet, Others pure as snowy veil, Spread their fragrance on the breeze. And I asked them why they came; And each blossom smiled to tell me That to speak of His dear name They had raised their fairest banners, Banners that the children seek, With a shout of baby gladness Lighting heart and eye and cheek.

THE DIVER’S CRADLE SONG

Come, little diver now under the sea, Bring up a crown of bright jewels to me. Bring me the coral, the sea-weed, the shell; Bring the anemones there in the dell, While baby’s awake.

Come, little diver now under the sea, Gather the mosses and bring them to me. Find a sea-butterfly in the blue wave; Get me the pearls that are hid in the cave, While baby’s awake.

Come, little diver deep under the sea; Find a bright star-fish and fetch it to me. I want a gurnet and sea-urchin, too; Come, little diver, we’re waiting for you, While baby’s awake.

Waiting for you, and how long shall we wait? Golden stars gleam on the billowy gate. Why do you stay in the coral to sleep? Gather the jewels and rise from the deep, While baby’s awake.

Ah, little diver, you’ve tarried so long! Baby’s soft eyelids droop low in the song: See how the bright fingers rest on her cheek; Whatever you bring, little diver, don’t speak, Lest baby awake.

THE RISING GENERATION

See ten thousand cradles swaying With their burdens to and fro; In the vales and on the mountains, Tropics warm and fields of snow; Every land and tribe and people Hears the little new-born voice; Sees the rising generation In its early thoughts rejoice.

Shivering Greenland has these treasures, Wrapt in furs with tender care. Sunny India fans her birdlings In the warm and balmy air, And the spicy isles shed sweetness ’Round the little cherished bed: From pole to pole the mother’s bosom Pillows soft her darling’s head.

Little velvet hands are playing; Little dimpled fingers move; Little restless feet are nestling; Little ruby lips of love All throughout the world are smiling: Precious baby hearts are light; Wondering at surrounding objects, Thinking all the world is bright.

Then the countless groups of children Sporting as they glide along The stream of life, while bird and rillet Interweave their cheerful song With sweetest notes; and childhood’s hours Seem like a morning of delight Where gardens bloom with fairest flowers, Glittering with the dews of night.

Oh! the rising generation Soon will rule throughout the world, And the thoughts we daily teach them Soon like banners be unfurled; Soon our words and tones be copied, And like seeds spring up again, Swaying future generations, Molding hearts and voices then:

And again be scattered broadcast, And again in harvest rise. Teach us, Lord, Thy perfect wisdom: Make our hearts and lips and eyes To speak forth tenderness and love. Make the very tone of voice The index to the will subdued, Telling, “We in Christ rejoice.”

Give us faith and peace unshaken; In each parent’s heart implant The fear of God, to guard and quicken, Till each thought with God is blent; Till His glorious presence fills With sweet peace no words can tell, And we can every cross endure, Seeing Him invisible.

Like Moses then the parent’s face Shall tell what patience Jesus gives; And little wond’ring hearts will trace The path to where Immanuel lives. And little children yearn to know The sweetness of the Saviour’s love.

Then, then the world will turn to God. Then children pray with earnest soul; The clouds of unbelief will flee, And light shall spread from pole to pole, As millions bear the Gospel on And scatter Day-beams through the earth, Till all the nations shall arise Rejoicing in immortal birth.

That glorious day my soul shall see; Perchance on earth, or looking forth From Heaven’s heights of amethyst Rejoicing o’er the ransomed earth. Rise, Christian, rise. Wake, parent, wake. The Rising Generation calls; Go onward and proclaim the road.

WHY THE BABIES WENT HOME

The other side the Pearly Gates Have a myriad babies gone Because their robes were all too thin For the chilly eve and dawn. Or the little shoes were cold and damp From the wet grass of the lawn.

The other side the Pearly Gates Have a myriad babies fled Because in the tender baby-days They were given flesh and bread, Though God made milk, the delicious milk For the babies to be fed.

The other side the Pearly Gates A myriad babies went, Because no sweet love greeted them In the hours when they were sent; And the way was all too hard and cold For the little ones God lent.

The other side the Pearly Gates God made the loveliest place For the wee ones come back to Him; And they always “see His face.” The sweetest joys of heaven are theirs, In the Home of endless grace.

BLESSINGS OF GOD

God made the milk to be Creamy and sweet, For all of His children To drink and to eat. To make all His frail ones Grow happy and strong, Give them the precious milk Sweet as a song.

God made the golden corn, God made the wheat, For bread and for puddings; Rich plenty to eat. The rice and the barley, The rye and the oats; O let us thank Him In happier notes!

God made the fruits to grow Luscious and sweet, For all His dear children To drink and to eat. Never ferment them; For then from the rot Springs forth the poison! Taste of it not!

Fresh from the fruit bottles Seal it away; Sink it in waters cold; Hide it in clay. There ’twill keep fresh and sweet, Harmless as new. Harmless as ripened grapes Sparkling with dew.

KINDNESS TO ALL

A record is kept of all things upon earth. And even the kitty that sleeps on the hearth Has its own rights to our kindness and care, As long as it lives. And no one should dare To think all he owes is a kick and a “Scat!” To poor little pussy because she’s a cat. And if she must die, let it be by the way That gives the least pain, is what Mercy would say. Be kind to all creatures; our heart tells us why. And he who cares not for the sufferer’s cry Shall himself call in vain when the terror is nigh; He who cares not for pain of man, beast or bird Shall yet cry “himself and never be heard.”

CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS

There came a chorus from the vales and hills; From plains and mountains, and the rippling rills. Where’er a flower was growing, came a song, So sweet it woke to praise a countless throng; And these blest words I caught within my heart To keep until from earthly walks I part. “We flowers, all, have come to earth to tell What every blessed angel knows so well: That God is Love; and seek that love to show Where’er a human foot can ever go. He sent us forth in beauties numberless, For every heart to welcome and caress, And learn a little of that love divine That seeks through leaf and flower and star, to shine.”

THE CORNSTALK CHAIR

In the years long gone, whence the shadows smile Like the morning beams on the song-swept isle, Half hid by the cloud and the rainbow’s wing Are the early scenes that my dreamings bring. There’s a little child at her quiet play, Rocking her doll in a motherly way; Singing a song as the hours creep by, And the blue-bells bloom as the sun mounts high. There’s a violet wreath in her auburn hair, And her rag doll sits in a cornstalk chair That her grandmother made, with the skill of old From the tender stems like the polished gold. The little one then, as she planned and played And a tiny loaf in a teaspoon made, Knew not what a world of grief is this, For her woes were healed with the mother’s kiss. And she never thought as she went to rub All her dolly’s clothes in a basin-tub, And then hung them out on a tiny cord, As white as the ruff of an ancient lord, She should yet count the seasons one by one, Till the dear old folks were gone, all gone; Caught up to the Land of the Blessed Fold, And she more than half a century old! But O, what a change ’tween then and now! Memories stamped upon spirit and brow; The violets gone and the silver thread Is the chaplet now for the once bright head; And the cornstalk chair, like the polished gold, Is vanished away with the dreams of old. But the heart keeps all, and is never cold. While the voices heard in the anthems then, In the quiet hours come oft again.

LITTLE OLD BABY CLOTHES