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,— 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, Glistens and falls upon the brow She lifts her heart and simply says, She hears a voice within her ear That breathes this lesson, low, but clear: "Mother! to thee this day is given A soul to keep and fit for heaven. "Oh, watch and lead the little feet Through the day's toil and pain and heat "Lest from the path they go astray, And wander from God's fold away! "And guide the hands that they may know No other will than His below. "And train the heart so pure, so mild, Into the likeness of the Child "Who came into a world of sin And gave his life our souls to win! "Heed well the charge! nor hope to plead Thou couldst not know, thou didst not heed!" The mother bowed her head in thought, "To do thy will, and yield to thee -Marian Longfellow. The Baby. 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? 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, As if his head were as full of kinks 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. WO little feet, so small that both may nestle Two tender feet upon the untried border Of life's mysterious land. 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 All dainty, smooth, and fair,— 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. 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 imp of mirth and joy! In love's dear chain so bright a link, Thou cherub, but of earth; Fit playfellow for fays, by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!) (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) |