Part 3

From out a bundle in the old red chest I found some baby-clothes that called the tears. They brought so many precious memories forth, Sweet, precious memories of by-gone years. A little shirt so tiny that the sleeves Would always seem to, laughing, whisper low, “We were the first you made: we did not grow In length nor breadth; and when the baby grew We were laid by to serve a baby new.” That little shirt! The tiny hem-stitched front Covered the little heart whose fluttering beat Was like a captive bird; nor did I know The years would come, years sorrowful and sweet, When I, in pain, my weary head would rest Against that heart, and on those arms so blest. O little sleeves! the arms you circled then, I kissed and dressed; they dress me now. Again The old-time tenderness comes o’er me with a thrill She is the stronger; yet my darling still. O little shirt, too worn to give away; Too dear to waste; still with my keepsakes stay, With the wee stockings and the short pink dress, Hid in the bundle, still my heart to bless, By bringing back the rainbow baby days When God first taught me mother-thought and praise. These little clothes bring back the time to me When, full of wonder and of hope, I thought The coming treasure, that pure gift of God For which, in prayer, my earnest heart had sought, Would cheer me with a joy that only shines In mother-hearts, where Love’s most costly mines Are thrown wide open to be gathered free For baby lips and baby eyes to see. Yes, I remember all, dear little clothes, You’ve roused a thousand memories from repose; And like the sweetest music of the past, You breathe a song that must forever last. A song re-echoed ever here below; A song to follow me when I shall go To that glad Home where parting is no more, And greet my children on the fadeless shore.

LULLABY OF THE ROSES

Over the rustic window sill, Peering down on the little crib; Over the snowy pillow-frill, Over the snowy little bib. Scattering rose leaves fresh and sweet; Pure as the baby’s lips and feet.

Baby, dream a beautiful dream, Watched by the summer roses bright, That wake to see the starry gleam From the wonderful crown of night, And wait to peer on the baby’s crib, And strew soft leaves on baby’s bib.

We wear the styles the roses wore In the summers beyond the Flood, And dyes the same we had before, And our patterns came down from God. We are the same glad roses still, Smiling over the window sill.

We ne’er forget the ways we learned There in the sinless Eden Home; Whether we’re loved, or torn and spurned, We smile as Eve’s own garden bloom. Scattering rose-leaves fresh and sweet, Soft as baby’s lips and feet.

For the Beautiful One said “Stay; Tell the children of God’s own love. Breathing forth fragrance all the way; Giving the smiles sent from above.” So we watch for the little crib; Strewing leaves on the baby’s bib.

LULLABY OF THE SUN

The first baby ever to earth was born, I kissed with my beams on its natal morn. I made the dews sparkle, the tender buds bloom, The air of the morning with sweets to perfume. I love all the babies my sunbeams to see; I love them and all of the babies love me.

The babies they hide from me always grow pale. None can be rosy and happy and hale But those that I nourish with warmth and with light; E’en in the darkness I never leave quite; I shine ’round the corners from planet and moon, To whisper “Take courage, I’ll be with you soon.”

Then, touching the morning cloud, touching the hills, I send out the twilight that wakens the rills. And more and more pouring my sunbeams afar, Till dew-drops are diamonds, and hid is each star; I wake all the babies my glories to see. I love them and all of the babies love me!

EARTH’S REQUIEM FOR THE LITTLE ONES

Never a baby soul fluttered away But I must tenderly treasure the clay, Holding it close to my motherly breast, Hiding it under my mantle to rest; To rest till the Father who builded the skies Shall waken the dust, and bid it arise. Every sweet babe, in my bosom I hold, Is a bright angel to never grow old. Wee, waxen hands so quietly folded; Little, still feet—divinely they’re molded! Eyes that once sparkled and yet to awake When Resurrection’s bright morning shall break.

DARLING BABY

Do you see the darling baby Laughing in her crib? She has learned to get the bonnet And untie her bib.

She pulls off her little stockings Playing with her toes. And her feet are soft as velvet, Pinky as the rose.

Well, baby may be a mother In a little while; So take care what things you teach her By your word and smile.

For she’ll be just what you make her, Selfish, proud and cold: Or she may be like the angels, Sweet and pure as gold.

THE ANCIENT OF DAYS

’Tis a wonderful Chorister made us to sing, And taught every warbler its lays; And His rapturous voice leads the angels in song; And His name is the Ancient of Days! ’Tis a wonderful Architect builded the earth; We read His great heart in His ways; In the sweet and the beautiful mirrored He lives; And His name is the Ancient of Days! ’Tis a wondrous Philosopher balanced the clouds, And weaves the bright sunshine with haze; And waters the earth with the dew and the rains; And His name is the Ancient of Days! His arm never wearies; His heart never faints, For strength to guide worlds on their ways; And all the bright comets that rush through the sky, Heed the voice of the Ancient of Days! His heart is the gladdest of all the glad hearts That join in the anthem of praise; Yet none grieves like Him o’er the loss of the soul, Because He’s the Ancient of Days. His voice is the sweetest in all the glad song In rapture all Heaven to amaze: In all the vast universe naught can compare; With the voice of the Ancient of Days! And with Him in loveliness none can compare; His beauty is great as His ways. And those who behold Him are changed by His smile, Because He is Ancient of Days! His age shows no weakness; His beauty and truth Shine ever ’mid cycles of praise. Forever He keepeth “the dew of His youth,” Because He is Ancient of Days! I long for His teaching; I long to behold, And sing with the angels His praise. And soon I shall see Him, see Him _as He is_, Our Saviour, the Ancient of Days.

LITTLE SHOES

Trudge, trudge, trudge, two little bright shoes; Two tiny feet move you along; Soft, dimpled fingers play with you oft; Two rosy lips are learning a song.

Trudge, trudge, trudge, two little bright shoes; Two sparkling eyes laugh as you skip. Don’t run too fast when papa comes home, The big tears fall whenever you slip.

Trudge, trudge, trudge! O come, little shoes, Baby must rest, and not walk all day. Baby must sleep, and two little feet In the warm coverlet hide them away.

Trudge, trudge, trudge, two little bright shoes, Worn at the heel, and worn at the toe, Holding the impress of innocence sweet, And more precious the older they grow.

Trudge, trudge, trudge! if all of our feet Went half as far in God’s beautiful way, There would be sunshine over the earth, And the dark places would shine as the day.

THERE’S AN ANGEL HERE

Don’t be cross if the dishes break: Don’t be cross if the baby wake: There is a pen and a record near; O speak kind,—there’s an angel here!

Don’t be harsh if your will be crossed; Life’s great sea may be tempest-tossed; Call on Christ, for the billows kneel, If His hand shall but touch the wheel.

Don’t be cross if the tide rolls high; God still rules in the stormy sky. Still be kind though the way is dark; God saves some in a helpless Ark.

Don’t be cross, for a mighty host Now looks on; not a word is lost. What is earth, and its riches what? Soon all past, and its gold forgot.

Don’t be cross, for the iron pen Still writes on; for the great Amen Summons each to the shining throne, There to meet every word his own.

Keep us, Lord, from the hasty word That wounds all hearts like the cruel sword! And with the blood that for us was shed, Blot cross words from the records read.

“WAKING UP THE STARS”

Morn has lighted up the azure, Yet our precious baby-treasure Has not wakened from her slumbers, And she dreams the starry numbers All have closed their twinkling eyes, As she sails the soft blue skies; Sails on clouds as white as snow, Far above the world below. Silken ringlets, golden-brown, From her temples rippling down, Rest aglow upon the pillow, While she floats dream’s joyous billow. Now the lashes on her cheek Tremble, as she wakes to speak; From the pillow she is springing, And the baby-accents ringing, Like the song-bird’s from its bars, “I was waking up the stars!” Baby dear, so sweetly dreaming, All the world so guileless seeming; We’re the stars that need awaking; ’Tis our slumber that needs breaking. Life’s short day is almost done; Wake us for the setting sun.

LULLABY OF THE STARS

Come little earth-star, where the babies sleep; Fly up the blue path, and time with us keep. O spread your cloud-wings, bright, tiny star, Come towards the Pleiades shining afar!

Come, little earth-star, where the babies dream, Rocked in the cradles soft, ’neath starry gleam. Swung in the hammocks bright, ’neath summer trees, Where the breath of roses floats on the breeze.

Come, little earth-star, where the babies laugh, Drinking the sweet milk God hath made to quaff. Bathed in the sunshine ever fresh and new, Tell them we are watching up in the blue.

Tell them we’re shining still ’mid the light; Glitt’ring and twinkling all through the night. Gleaming at morn ’tween rose-clouds aglow; Peering through the dark storm laden with snow.

Wee, precious earth-world, though so very small, All the big stars know thee; thou art watched by all. No star so favored as thyself hath been, Where the King of Glory died to save from sin.

Brightest of sunbeam kiss thy ripening food. Countless pure angels guard thy baby brood. When we sing Love’s anthem, shouting it afar, There’s a tender chorus sung for thee, O star!

Mighty is the arm that guideth on the way! Planets keep their orbits while the comets play. And you never jostle with your baby-brood, While they learn the praises of the Loving God.

Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, little earth-world, Flying towards the Pleiades bright unfurled; While we sing Love’s anthem, shouting it afar; And a tender chorus swells for thee, O star!

ROSES

Sweet roses! and they bloomed as pure As shining cloud and shining dew, And when I asked why such sweet buds From out the cold, damp hillsides grew; The roses nodded in the wind, And every velvet lip replied, “We came to tell the love of God, And tell the sweet, old story wide. And that we might the longer stay To light the path and cheer the way, Where’er the little children stray, Our stems are wisely wrapped in thorn, That weary night and golden morn, From baby lips to wake a smile ’Mid baby thoughts all pure from guile.”

MOTHER EARTH’S LULLABY

Rest, baby, rest, On my glad breast. All the babies I have carried Ever since sweet Eve was married, And I love them all so well, That I never yet could tell Which I think the dearest one, Whether daughter, whether son, All are precious from their birth To the fond old mother Earth.

Rest, baby, rest, On my glad breast. O, the pansies, pinks and roses, Buttercups and fair, wild posies, On the lawns and in the wild, I am growing for each child; Making streamlets dance with glee For the baby eyes to see. Guarding nests of birdies near That bring songs to baby’s ear.

Rest, baby, rest, On my glad breast. Bread from golden field is coming; Honey flows where bees are humming. These in richness soon will come; Apple, berry, grape and plum. But may mother not forget Milk is baby’s glory yet; And for years it still must be, If you would a jewel see.

Rest, baby, rest, On my glad breast. How I watch your priceless slumbers. Holding careful, countless numbers; Constant turning round and round, That the sleeping sleep more sound In the shade; and those that wake See the rosy morning break. List’ning to hosannas sweet, That all babyhood will greet.

Rest, baby, rest, On my glad breast. Whether in the wilds near Eden, Or in Father Noah’s garden, Kings and peasants, rich and poor, Born to ignorance or lore, I have done the best I could With the flocks of babyhood. Every baby is a gem; My old heart goes out to them!

LULLABY OF THE RAIN-DROPS

’Tis the patter of the rain-drops, Baby dear, Falling lightly on the home-roof, That we hear. Patter, patter, low and sweet, Like the touch of velvet feet Coming near.

’Tis the patter of the rain-drops On the grass, Makes it grow so green and shining As they pass. And each leaf upon the trees Waves, like jewels in the breeze, Liquid glass.

’Tis the patter of the rain-drops On the brook, Makes it dimple, dimple, dimple, As we look: Saying as they run away, “We write records every day In Love’s Book.”

’Tis the cradle song of summer That we hear, In the patter of the rain-drops, Coming near. Though the dark skies seem to frown Every drop brings blessings down, Baby dear.

KISSING THE SUNBEAM

A babe not old enough to speak or walk was creeping on the floor. By and by a bright ray of sunshine fell upon the carpet. Baby saw it and crept towards the dazzling spot. She looked at it, with the greatest interest in her sweet face; and then, putting down her little lips, she kissed it.

O sweet little babe, in thy innocent glee, Kissing the sunbeam so golden and bright; God sent it, a messenger lovely, to thee, From the blue fields of heaven, all fledged with the light.

Then kiss the bright beaming, thou dear little one; And mayest thou ever be grateful to Him Who gave to redeem us His glorious Son And filleth our cup of sweet joy to the brim.

O kiss the bright sunbeam that gladdens thy home, Though ’tween the dark storm clouds that sunbeam may come; It cometh so golden, so beautiful ever; Then welcome the sunbeam, and praise the kind Giver.

The Lord, in His love to the children of earth, Showers His mercies and joys ’round the hearth; Crowns the year with His goodness and bounty of love, ’Till the earth teems with blessings all fresh from above.

God scatters them freely and kindly on all: Every moment they come, and how thickly they fall; But blessings, like sunbeams in showers of gold, Are drunk without praises by hearts dark and cold.

He sends them to tell us how kind is His care. He sends them to tell us how thankless we are. He sends them to beautify Life’s troubled stream; O praise ye the Giver Who sendeth the beam.

JEWEL OF THE CRADLE

How fondly the heart of the mother is stirred, As she bends o’er the cradle where Innocence sleeps, And the sweetest of names and the tenderest word For her little birdling she carefully keeps.

How precious its smiles and its cooing to her; And the light of its eye gives her joy anew, And e’en while she sleeps, her fond heart waketh still, Like a list’ning star in Night’s curtain of blue.

Her fond, circling arms press it still to her breast, Where lulled by her heart-throb it slumbers again. If aught should awake it, the mother will start From dreaming and patiently comfort it then.

How wilt thou reward her, O sweet little babe? How give back the years of her labor and care? How pay for the tears of sweet sympathy shed; The heart’s deepest yearning; the river of prayer?

O sweet little babe, learn of Jesus to love; Sing Zion’s sweet songs with thy silvery voice; O then shall the heart of thy mother be glad, And o’er thy existence forever rejoice.

BABY SWEET

Baby sweet is a wonderful one, From the bright country beyond the sun; Whether a boy or whether a girl, Each smile is pure; each tooth is a pearl; Whether we wake at midnight or morn, Still we are glad the sweet baby is born.

Baby sweet is a wonderful one, With eyes that shine like dew in the sun; With velvet hands of the lily white; With cheeks and lips of the roses bright. Whether a boy or whether a girl, A voter to be; the flag to unfurl.

Baby sweet is a wonderful one. Teach the small feet to lovingly run; Teach the small hands to loving caress; Teach the pure lips to pray and to bless. Whether a boy or whether a girl; Whether its locks are to braid or to curl; Hide from it vanity, cruelty hide; Feed it with purity, never with pride.

ANGEL OF THE CRADLE

There’s an angel in the cradle. ’Tis a little stainless one, In the morning of existence. Here we see the rising sun Of intelligence unfolding, And its dewy thought unspring, All so primitive and hopeful, As the mind unfurls its wing.

Deathless wing! O little stranger, New-born messenger of love. Jesus shield thy soul from danger, Jesus lead thee safe above. Suffer not, O blest Redeemer! Suffer not this child to stray From the fountain of salvation And the happy, heavenly way.

Suffer not, O God, my Saviour! This dear child’s young heart to fill With the follies of the worldly. May she yield to Thee her will. May she seek Thee, living Saviour; Teach her in Thy blood to trust, And for faith in Thy redemption, Thou mayest call her with the just.

O God! my heart, too full for utterance, Claims Thy promise. Leave her not. May Thy Spirit warn and shield her: Be her joy, whate’er her lot. O Thou for sinners crucified! Hear for this babe the mother’s prayer. O teach her all the way of life; May Lily be an angel there, Where comes no cloud of sin and fear And never falls the parting tear.

LET ANGELS NAME IT

Mother, how thy little darling Softly twines its tiny arms ’Round thy neck, like infant tendrils, Bright with more than earthly charms.

What callest thou the baby cherub? O can mortals find a name, Suited to its guileless spirit, And its fair and fragile frame?

The rose is on its snowy cheek, Fresh as when embalmed with dew, And O, its eyes are like the stars, ’Tween the soft clouds glancing through!

The ruby lip that mutely smiles, The waving of the curls of gold, The changing glances of the eye, All shadow forth bright thoughts untold.

I know that in its sinless breast, Embowered in the little heart, Thoughts primitive steal softly on, And Love’s own happy flowers start.

God’s Spirit oft may light its mind With thoughts of gladness from above; Too fair for earth, thy darling seems; Let angels name the little Love.

O! let it never see a frown, Nor hear a cold or cruel word; Its eye will imitate thy glance; Its tongue repeat whate’er is heard.

O guard, with prayer, this angel germ; This bud upon Life’s ocean tossed, Lest thou shouldst ever see thy child Numbered among the loved and lost.

O guard, with prayer, this deathless bud! That lust may never blight its bloom; And thou shalt see this cherished one In realms of peace beyond the tomb.

Teach it to fold those little hands, And bend the knee to Christ in prayer: And all the wishes of the heart To tell the Lord who listens there.

Teach it to plead the promises, Bequeathed in the sweet Book divine, If thou wouldst have this child of earth Among the stars of Heaven to shine.

THE TWO CRADLES

THE BABY PRINCESS

The cradle, carved like an open shell Of ebony, polished bright, Was all inlaid with silver rare That shone in the mellow light,— Which streamed through the tiny curtains, wove Of silver gauze and velvet flowers, And lightly touched the infant’s cheek, As it lay in satin wrappings, weak, And slept through the quiet hours; And the princess dreamed in her costly bed, With a lady grand at her feet and head; And never knew nor cared what grace Had fashioned frills of her dainty lace; For she dreamed no sweeter while she slept, Nor suffered less when in pain she wept; Though the lullaby in the chorus said: “There’s a sparkling crown for the royal head.”

THE LITTLE RUSTIC

In its cradle-hammock, cool and light, A baby swayed in the summer air; And through the leaves of the spreading trees, It looked on the pure, blue heavens there; And smiled as the warblers sang a song, And cooed as the sweet breeze swept along, Till its eyelids drooped and the lashes lay On the velvet cheek; while the mother there Guards still the babe of her tender care: And the winds blow soft as they come that way To touch the curls, and then whispering say, “Peace to the child in its hammock bed, And crowns of health for the bright young head.”

MY DARLING UNBORN

O dear little one that my eyes never saw, Yet sprang to existence so near to my heart. Thou gatherest strength from each breath that I draw; Thus, of all I have precious, I give thee a part. Thus I nourished thee, darling, by day and by night, And in the strange burden I take a delight; Hoping in future that thou, in thy love, Wilt strengthen the feeble and guide them above.

While my heart sends to thee its own bright, crimson tide, Freighted with sustenance, ruby and warm, I bear all thy sorrows, nor seek to divide, With my own hidden darling, the chill of the storm. Thus I shield thee, my loved one, by night and by day; For thee do I suffer and for thee do I pray. My heart hovers o’er the calm place of thy rest; I’m waiting to pillow thy head on my breast.

O! may God keep thee from guile and from sin; May this voice of warning fall sweet on thine ear. May He give thee a heart to love cleanness within And all His commandments so priceless to hear. Thus may Christ keep thee, my darling, my child; Making thee humble and patient and mild; Tuning thy harp for the realms of the blest: O there meet me, darling, in Heaven to rest!