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Of life's mysterious land。



Dimpled; and soft; and pink as peach…tree blossoms;

In April's fragrant days;

How can they walk among the briery tangles;

Edging the world's rough ways?



These rose…white feet; along the doubtful future;

Must bear a mother's load;

Alas! since Woman has the heavier burden;

And walks the harder road。



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;

Who shall direct them then?



How will they be allured; betrayed; deluded;

Poor little untaught feet!

Into what dreary mazes will they wander;

What dangers will they meet?



Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness

Of Sorrow's tearful shades?

Or find the upland slopes of Peace and Beauty;

Whose sunlight never fades?



Will they go toiling up Ambition's summit;

The common world above?

Or in some nameless vale; securely sheltered;

Walk side by side with Love?



Some feet there be which walk Life's track unwounded;

Which find but pleasant ways:

Some hearts there be to which this life is only

A round of happy days。



But these are few。  Far more there are who wander

Without a hope or friend; …

Who find their journey full of pains and losses;

And long to reach the end。



How shall it be with her; the tender stranger;

Fair…faced and gentle…eyed;

Before whose unstained feet the world's rude highway

Stretches so fair and wide?



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。



Elizabeth Akers '1832…1911'





THE BABIE



Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes;

Nae stockin' on her feet;

Her supple ankles white as snaw;

Or early blossoms sweet。



Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink;

Her double; dimplit chin;

Her puckered lips; an' baumy mou';

With na ane tooth within。



Her een sae like her mither's een;

Twa gentle; liquid things;

Her face is like an angel's face; …

We're glad she has nae wings。



She is the buddin' of our luve;

A giftie God gied us:

We maun na luve the gift owre weel;

'Twad be nae blessin' thus。



We still maun luve the Giver mair;

An' see Him in the given;

An' sae she'll lead us up to Him;

Our babie straight frae Heaven。



Jeremiah Eames Rankin '1828…1904'





LITTLE HANDS



Soft little hands that stray and clutch;

Like fern fronds curl and uncurl bold;

While baby faces lie in such

Close sleep as flowers at night that fold;

What is it you would; clasp and hold;

Wandering outstretched with wilful touch?

O fingers small of shell…tipped rose;

How should you know you hold so much?

Two full hearts beating you inclose;

Hopes; fears; prayers; longings; joys and woes; …

All yours to hold; O little hands!

More; more than wisdom understands

And love; love only knows。



Laurence Binyon '1869…





BARTHOLOMEW



Bartholomew is very sweet;

From sandy hair to rosy feet。



Bartholomew is six months old;

And dearer far than pearls or gold。



Bartholomew has deep blue eyes;

Round pieces dropped from out the skies。



Bartholomew is hugged and kissed:

He loves a flower in either fist。



Bartholomew's my saucy son:

No mother has a sweeter one!



Norman Gale '1862…





THE STORM…CHILD



My child came to me with the equinox;

The wild wind blew him to my swinging door;

With flakes of tawny foam from off the shore;

And shivering spindrift whirled across the rocks。

Flung down the sky; the wheeling swallow…flocks

Cried him a greeting; and the lordly woods;

Waving lean arms of welcome one by one;

Cast down their russet cloaks and golden hoods;

And bid their dancing leaflets trip and run

Before the tender feet of this my son。



Therefore the sea's swift fire is in his veins;

And in his heart the glory of the sea;

Therefore the storm…wind shall his comrade be;

That strips the hills and sweeps the cowering plains。

October; shot with flashing rays and rains;

Inhabits all his pulses; he shall know

The stress and splendor of the roaring gales;

The creaking boughs shall croon him fairy tales;

And the sea's kisses set his blood aglow;

While in his ears the eternal bugles blow。



May Byron '1861…





〃ON PARENT KNEES〃



On parent knees; a naked new…born child;

Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled:

So live; that; sinking to thy life's last sleep;

Calm thou may'st smile; while all around thee weep。



William Jones '1746…1794'

 



〃PHILIP; MY KING〃

〃Who bears upon his baby brow the round and top of sovereignty。〃



Look at me with thy large brown eyes;

Philip; my king!

Round whom the enshadowing purple lies

Of babyhood's royal dignities。

Lay on my neck thy tiny hand

With love's invisible scepter laden;

I am thine Esther to command

Till thou shalt find a queen…handmaiden;

Philip; my king。



O the day when thou goest a…wooing;

Philip; my king!

When those beautiful lips are suing;

And some gentle heart's bars undoing;

Thou dost enter; love…crowned; and there

Sittest love…glorified。  Rule kindly;

Tenderly; over thy kingdom fair;

For we that love; ah! we love so blindly;

Philip; my king。



Up from thy sweet mouth; … up to thy brow;

Philip; my king!

The spirit that there lies sleeping now

May rise like a giant and make men bow

As to one heaven…chosen among his peers。

My Saul; than thy brethren taller and fairer;

Let me behold thee in future years! …

Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer;

Philip; my king。



… A wreath not of gold; but palm。  One day;

Philip; my king!

Thou too must tread; as we trod; a way

Thorny and cruel and cold and gray:

Rebels within thee; and foes without;

Will snatch at thy crown。  But march on; glorious;

Martyr; yet monarch! till angels shout;

As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious;

〃Philip; the king!〃



Dinah Maria Mulock Craik '1826…1887'





THE KING OF THE CRADLE



Draw back the cradle curtains; Kate;

While watch and ward you're keeping;

Let's see the monarch in his state;

And view him while he's sleeping。

He smiles and clasps his tiny hand;

With sunbeams o'er him gleaming; …

A world of baby fairyland

He visits while he's dreaming。



Monarch of pearly powder…puff;

Asleep in nest so cosy;

Shielded from breath of breezes rough

By curtains warm and rosy:

He slumbers soundly in his cell;

As weak as one decrepid;

Though King of Coral; Lord of Bell;

And Knight of Bath that's tepid。



Ah; lucky tyrant!  Happy lot!

Fair watchers without number;

Who sweetly sing beside his cot;

And hush him off to slumber;

White hands in wait to smooth so neat

His pillow when its rumpled …

A couch of rose leaves soft and sweet;

Not one of which is crumpled!



Will yonder dainty dimpled hand …

Size; nothing and a quarter …

E'er grasp a saber; lead a band

To glory and to slaughter?

Or; may I ask; will those blue eyes …

In baby patois; 〃peepers〃 …

E'er in the House of Commons rise;

And try to catch the Speaker's?



Will that smooth brow o'er Hansard frown;

Confused by lore statistic?

Or will those lips e'er stir the town

From pulpit ritualistic?

Will e'er that tiny Sybarite

Become an author noted?

That little brain the world's delight;

Its works by all men quoted?



Though rosy; dimpled; plump; and round

Though fragile; soft; and tender;

Sometimes; alas! it may be found

The thread of life is slender!

A little shoe; a little glove …

Affection never waning …

The shattered idol of our love

Is all that is remaining!



Then does one chance; in fancy; hear;

Small feet in childish patter;

Tread soft as they a grave draw near;

And voices hush their chatter;

'Tis small and new; they pause in fear;

Beneath the gray church tower;

To consecrate it with a tear;

And deck it with a flower。



Who can predict the future; Kate …

Your fondest aspiration!

Who knows the solemn laws of fate;

That govern all creation?

Who knows what lot awaits your boy …

Of happiness or sorrow?

Sufficient for to…day is joy;

Leave tears; Sweet; for to…morrow!



Joseph Ashby…Sterry '1838…1917'





THE FIRSTBORN



So fair; so dear; so warm upon my bosom;

And in my hands the little rosy feet。

Sleep on; my little bird; my lamb; my blossom;

Sleep on; sleep on; my sweet。



What is it God hath given me to cherish;

This living; moving wonder which is mine …

Mine only?  Leave it with me or I perish;

Dear Lord of love divine。



Dear Lord; 'tis wonderful beyond all wonder;

This tender miracle vouchsafed to me;

One with myself; yet just so far asunder

That I myself may see。



Flesh

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