POEMS OF LIFE. The New-Born Babe. NAKED on parents' knees, a new-born child, Weeping, thou sat'st, when all around thee smiled; So live, that, sinking to thy long sleep, Thou then mayst smile while all around thee weep. NTO our home one blessed day INTO A wee sweet babe had found its way, While through the mist of tears and pain There it lay in its tender grace,- The father's eye with pride and joy He saw, as the years roll swift away, A strong young figure guide his feet And when his days on earth should close, But what the voice within her ear, She lifts her heart and simply says, O God! I thank thee, give thee praise! She hears a voice within her ear That breathes this lesson, low, but clear: W HERE did you come from, baby dear? Where did you get your eyes so blue? 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? Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Where did you get this pearly ear? God spoke, and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? How did they all come to be you? But how did you come to us, you dear? Cradle Song. Yet he chuckles, and crows, and nods, and winks, He need not laugh, for he'll find it so. By which the manikin feels his way Into the light of day? Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, What does he think of his mother's eyes? What does he think of his mother's hair? What of the cradle-roof that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his mother's breast, Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, Seeking it ever with fresh delight, Cup of his life, and couch of his rest? What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell, With a tenderness she 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. -Josiah Gilbert Holland. Two Little Feet. little feet, so small that both may nestle Two tender feet upon the untried border Dimpled, and soft, and pink as peach-trec blossoms, How can they walk among the briery tangles, These rose-white feet, along the doubtful future, Alas! since woman has the heaviest burden, Love, for a while, will make the path before them Will cull away the brambles, letting only The roses blossom there. But when the mother's watchful eyes are shrouded Away from sight of men, And these dear feet are left without her guiding, How will they be allured, betrayed, deluded Into what dreary mazes will they wander, What dangers will they meet? Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness Or find the upland slopes of Peace and Beauty, Will they go toiling up Ambition's summit, Or in some nameless vale, securely sheltered, Some feet there be which walk life's track unwounded, Some hearts there be to which this life is only But these are few. Far more there are who wander Who find their journey full of pains and losses, How shall it be with her, the tender stranger, Before whose unstained feet the world's rude highway Ah! who may read the future? For our darling We crave all blessings sweet, And pray that He who feeds the crying ravens, Will guide the baby's feet. -Anonymous. To My Infant Son. (But stop, first let me kiss away that tear) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas 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 wings 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, Thou idol of thy parents;-(Drat the boy! There goes my ink.) Thou cherub, but of earth; Fit playfellow for fays, by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,— (Another tumble! That's his precious nose!) Thy father's pride and hope! (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint, (Where did he learn that squint ?) Thou young domestic dove! (He'll have that ring off with another shove,) Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest! (Are these torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life, (He's got a knife !) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on, My elfin John! Toss the light ball, bestride the stick,— (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose ! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) Balmy and breathing music like the south, (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove; (I'll tell you what, my love, (I cannot write unless he's sent above.) I HAD told him, Christmas morning, Holding fast his little stockings, Stuffed as full as full could be, And attentive listening to me, With a face demure and mild, "But we'll be good, won't we, moder?" Where a tempting goblet stood, But the kitten, there before me, Slapping off the shining froth; Thrust him out into the street. Then how Benny's blue eyes kindled! Gathering up the precious store He had busily been pouring In his tiny pinafore, With a generous look that shamed me, Benny. Sprang he from the carpet bright, Showing by his mien indignant, All a baby's sense of right. "Come back, Harney," called he loudly, Then, as by some sudden impulse, Watched the flames go high and higher, "Santa Caus, come down de chinney, Make my moder 'have herself." "I will be a good girl, Benny," Said I, feeling the reproof; Laughter chased away the frown, And my play-worn boy beside me He is sleeping; brown and silken Lie the lashes, long and meek, Like caressing, clinging shadows On his plump and peachy cheek; And I bend above him, weeping Thankful tears, O Undefiled! For a woman's crown of glory, For the blessing of a child. -Annie C. Ketchum. I A Thought Over a Cradle. SADDEN when thou smilest to my smile, Child of my love! I tremble to believe That o'er the mirror of that eye of blue The shadow of my heart will always pass;— A heart that, from its struggle with the world, Comes nightly to thy guarded cradle home, And, careless of the staining dust it brings, Asks for its idol! Strange, that flowers of earth Are visited by every air that stirs, And drink in sweetness only, while the child That shuts within its breast a bloom for heaven May take a blemish from the breath of love, And bear the blight forever. I have wept With gladness at the gift of this fair child! Take Thou its love, I pray Thee! Give it light- Ο The Bald-Headed Tyrant. H! the quietest home on earth had I, No thought of trouble, no hint of care; Oh, the despot came in the dead of night, He ordered us here, and he sent us there- But his abject slaves they turned on me; For Peace had fled from my dwelling now, And low before him I made my bow. "Wilt thou deliver me out of his hand, This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land ?” Old Time he looked with a puzzled stare, And a smile came over his features grim. I'll take the tyrant under my care: Watch what my hour-glass does to him. The veriest humbug that ever was planned, Is this same bald-head from No-man's-land. |