Chapter 2

FEBRUARY TWENTY-NINTHFor what are all our contrivingsAnd the wisdom of all our booksWhen compared with your caressesAnd the gladness of your looks.LongfellowMARCHMARCH FIRSTI am one who holds a treasureAnd a gem of wondrous cost;But I mar my heart's deep pleasureWith the fear it may be lost.. . . . . . . .Then spoke the Angel of mothersTo me, in gentle tone,"Be kind to the children of othersAnd thus deserve thine own."Julia Ward HoweMARCH SECONDHere at the portals thou dost standAnd, with thy little hand,Thou openest the mysterious gateInto the future's undiscovered land.LongfellowMARCH THIRDLike children with violets playingIn the shade of the whispering trees.Charles KingsleyMARCH FOURTHInfancy is the perpetual Messiah, which comesinto the arms of fallen men and pleads with them toreturn to ParadiseEmersonMARCH FIFTHCome to me O ye children!For I hear you at your playAnd the questions that perplexed meHave vanished quite away.LongfellowMARCH SIXTHA solemn thing it is to meTo look upon a babe that sleeps,Wearing in its spirit-deepsThe undeveloped mysteryOf our Adam's taint and woe,Which, when they developed be,Will not let it slumber so.Mrs. BrowningMARCH SEVENTHSome one had left the gate ajar,Heaven's gate, you know, my dear,And a baby angel winging byPeeped out on a scene most drear."Oh me!" he murmured in dulcet tones,"The old Earth needs more light;I guess I 'll fly a little wayAnd carry a sunbeam bright."SelectedMARCH EIGHTHDear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,Fill up the interspersed vacanciesAnd momentary pauses of the thought!My babe so beautiful! It thrills my heartWith tender gladness thus to look at thee.S. T. ColeridgeMARCH NINTHWhen I hustle home at evening,And the light shines from the door,An' I see my little babyRollin' happy on the floor,An' see Sister helpin' Mother,I'm as tickled as can beAn' there aint no King a-livin'That has got the best o' me.Judd Mortimer LewisMARCH TENTHO blossom boy! So calm in thy repose!So sweet a compromise of life and death,'Tis pity those fair buds shall e'er uncloseFor memory to stain their inward leaf,Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief.HoodMARCH ELEVENTHO let thy children lean aslantAgainst the tender mother's knee,And gaze into her face, and wantTo know what magic there can beIn words that urge some eyes to danceWhile others, as in holy trance,Look up to Heaven, be such my praise.Walter Savage LandorMARCH TWELFTHOh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep!A tender infant with its curtained eyeBreathing as it would neither live nor dieWith that unchanging countenance of sleep!HoodMARCH THIRTEENTHTwo faces o'er a cradle bent;Two hands above the head were locked,These pressed each other while they rocked,Those watched a life that love had sent.O solemn hour!O hidden power!George EliotMARCH FOURTEENTHTo see a child so very fairIt was a pure delight.WordsworthMARCH FIFTEENTHThe tree germ bears within itself the nature ofthe whole tree; the human being bears within itselfthe nature of all humanity, and is not, therefore,humanity born anew in each child?FroebelMARCH SIXTEENTHThoughts of all fair and useful things,The hopes of early years;And childhood's purity and grace,And joys that like a rainbow chaseThe passing shower of tears.BryantReprinted from Bryant's Complete Poetical Works by special permission, of D. Appleton & Co.MARCH SEVENTEENTHSweet is the holiness of youth.WordsworthMARCH EIGHTEENTHAll its dainty body, honey sweet,Clenched hands and curled up feetThat on the roses of the dawn have trodAs they came down from God.SwinburneMARCH NINETEENTHWithin my tender mother's arms I sported,I played at horse upon my grandsire's knee;Sorrow and care and anger, ill-reported,As little known as gold or Greek to me.BaggesenMARCH TWENTIETHHow do you like to go up in a swingUp in the air so blue?Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thingEver a child can do!Robert Louis StevensonMARCH TWENTY-FIRSTSleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling!Mother sits beside thee smiling!Sleep my darling, tenderly!If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,Singing as her wheel she turneth;Come soft slumber, balmily.S. T. ColeridgeMARCH TWENTY-SECONDO sweet sleep-angel, throned nowOn the round glory of his brow!Wave thy wing and waft my vowBreathed over Baby Charley.I vow that my heart, when death is nigh,Shall never shiver with a sighFor act of hand or tongue or eyeThat wronged my Baby Charley.Sidney LanierMARCH TWENTY-THIRDShe seemed a thingOf Heaven's prime uncorrupted work, a childOf early nature undefiled,A daughter of the years of innocence,And, therefore, all things loved her.SoutheyMARCH TWENTY-FOURTHBairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tieThan aught in love the like of us can spy.Allan RamsayMARCH TWENTY-FIFTHSlumber little friend so wee,Joy thy joy is bringing.BellmanMARCH TWENTY-SIXTHThou straggler into loving arms,Young climber up of knees,When I forget thy thousand waysThen life and all shall cease.Charles LambMARCH TWENTY-SEVENTHWhere children are not, heaven is not, and heaven,If they come not again, shall be never!But the face and the voice of a child are assurancesof heaven and its promises forever.SwinburneMARCH TWENTY-EIGHTHO blessed vision! Happy child!Thou art so exquisitely wild,I think of thee with many fearsFor what may be thy lot in future years.WordsworthMARCH TWENTY-NINTHAnd with heaven in their hearts and their faces,Up rose the children all.LongfellowMARCH THIRTIETHNo baby in the house, I know,'T is far too nice and clean;No toys, by careless fingers strown,Upon the floors are seen.Clara G. DolliverMARCH THIRTY-FIRSTThe simple lessons which the nursery taughtFell soft and stainless on the buds of thought,And the full blossom owes its fairest hueTo those sweet tear drops of affection's dew.HolmesAPRILAPRIL FIRSTBut Jesus said, Suffer the little children tocome unto me; for of such is the kingdom ofHeaven.Matt. xix. 14APRIL SECONDSweet and low, sweet and low,Wind of the western sea,Low, low, breathe and blow,Wind of the western sea!Over the rolling waters go,Come from the dying moon and blow,Blow him again to me;While my little one, while my pretty one sleepsTennysonAPRIL THIRDMy mother she's so good to me,If I was good as I could be,I couldn't be as good—no, sir!—Can't any boy be as good as her!She loves me when I'm glad er sad;She loves me when I'm good er bad,An', what's a funniest thing, she saysShe loves me when she punishes.James Whitcomb RileyFrom "Poems here at Home." Copyright, 1893-1898. Used by permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.APRIL FOURTHThe first train leaves at six P.M.For the land where the poppy blows,The mother dear is the engineer,And the passenger laughs and crows;The palace car is the mother's arms,The whistle a low sweet strain,And the passenger winks and nods and blinksAnd goes to sleep on the train.Edgar Wade AbbottAPRIL FIFTHIn the house of too-much-troubleLived a lonely little boy;He was eager for a playmate,He was hungry for a toy.But 'twas always too much bother,Too much dirt and too much noise:For the house of too-much-troubleWasn't meant for little boys.Albert Bigelow PaineAPRIL SIXTHI long for every childish, loving word;And for thy little footsteps, fairy light,That hither, thither moved and ever stirredMy heart with them to gladness infinite.Carmen SylvaAPRIL SEVENTHA laugh of innocence and joyResounds like music of the fairest grace,And gladly turning from the world's annoy,I gaze upon a little radiant faceAnd bless internally the merry boyWho makes a "son-shine in a shady place."HoodAPRIL EIGHTHI had a little daughterAnd she was given to meTo lead me gently backwardTo the Heavenly Father's knee.LowellAPRIL NINTHDid any one ever tell youTo "stop makin' such a noise,"When you wuz a-playin' Injun,An' war-whoopin' with the boys?Did any one never tell youYour manners wuz loud and bold?Then I guess you are one of the grown-upsAnd not a boy nine years old.ExchangeAPRIL TENTHLet us call to mind the years before our littledaughter was born. We are now in the same conditionas then, except that the time she was with usis to be counted as an added blessing. Let us notungratefully accuse fortune for what was given usbecause we could not also have all that was desired.We should not be like misers who never enjoy whatthey have but only bewail what they lose.PlutarchAPRIL ELEVENTHAnd I, for one, would much rather;If I could merit so sweet a thing,Be the poet of little childrenThan the laureate of a King.Lucy LarcomAPRIL TWELFTHAh! Child, what are we, that our earsShould hear you singing on your way,Should have this happiness?SwinburneAPRIL THIRTEENTHSpeak gently to the young,For they will have enough to bear;Pass through life as best they may,'T is full of anxious care.David BatesAPRIL FOURTEENTHMy Mother's voice! how often creepsIts cadence on my lonely hours!Like healing sent on wings of sleep,Or dew to the unconscious flowers.I can forget her melting prayerWhile leaping pulses madly fly,But in the still unbroken airHer gentle tone comes stealing by,And years and sin and manhood fleeAnd leave me at my mother's knee.N. P. WillisAPRIL FIFTEENTHAnd then her heart would warm with hope, perhaps,of what might be to come, of the overwhelmingpossibilities—how many of them, to her, lay inthe warm clasp of the child's hand that came pushinginto hers!Anne Thackeray RitchieAPRIL SIXTEENTHThe barb in the arrow of childhood's suffering isthis: its intense loneliness, its intense ignorance.Olive SchreinerAPRIL SEVENTEENTHLike happy children in their play,Whose hearts run over into song.LowellAPRIL EIGHTEENTHAh! what would the world be to usIf the children were no more?We should dread the desert behind usWorse than the dark before.LongfellowAPRIL NINETEENTHWho can tell what a baby thinks?Who can follow the gossamer linksBy which the manikin feels his wayOut from the shore of the great unknown,Blind and wailing and alone,Into the light of day?J. G. HollandAPRIL TWENTIETHDear little face, that lies in calm contentWithin the gracious hollow that God madeIn every human shoulder, where he meantSome tired head for comfort should be laid.Celia ThaxterAPRIL TWENTY-FIRSTThis three-fold heaven, which you also bear withinyou, shines out on you through your child's eyes.FroebelAPRIL TWENTY-SECONDDance little child, oh dance!While sweet the wild birds sing,And flowers bloom fair, and every glanceOf sunshine tells of Spring.Oh! bloom and sing and smileChild, bird and flower and makeThe sad old world forget awhile,Its sorrow for your sake.Celia ThaxterAPRIL TWENTY-THIRDIf the golden-crested wrenWere a nightingale, why, thenSomething seen and heard of menMight be half as sweet as whenLaughs a child of seven.SwinburneAPRIL TWENTY-FOURTHO little ones whom I have foundAmong earth's green paths playing,Though listening far behind, around,There comes to me no sweeter soundThan words I hear you saying.Lucy LarcomAPRIL TWENTY-FIFTHA child sees what we are, behind what we wishto be.AmielAPRIL TWENTY-SIXTHDear Child! how radiant on thy Mother's knee,With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles,Thou gazest at the painted tiles.LongfellowAPRIL TWENTY-SEVENTHOur birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:The soul that rises with us, our life's star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar;Not in entire forgetfulnessAnd not in utter nakedness,But trailing clouds of glory do we comeFrom God, who is our home.WordsworthAPRIL TWENTY-EIGHTHHappy hearts and happy faces,Happy play in grassy places,That was how, in ancient ages,Children grew to kings and sages.Robert Louis StevensonAPRIL TWENTY-NINTHThat wide-gazing calm which makes us older humanbeings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certainawe in the presence of a little child, such as we feelbefore some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky.George EliotAPRIL THIRTIETHHer, by her smile, how soon the stranger knows,How soon by his the glad discovery shows,As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,What answering looks of sympathy and joy!He walks, he speaks. In many a broken wordHis wants, his wishes and his griefs are heard.And ever, ever to her lap he flies,When rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise.Samuel RogersMAYMAY FIRSTThe child whose face illumes our way,Whose voice lifts up the heart that hears,Whose hand is as the hand of May.SwinburneMAY SECONDBaby's skies are mother's eyes,Mother's eyes and smiles togetherMake the Baby's pleasant weather.SelectedMAY THIRDOh, when I was a tiny boyMy days and nights were full of joyHoodMAY FOURTHSweet babe, in thy faceSoft desires I can trace,Secret joys and secret smiles,Little pretty infant wiles.William BlakeMAY FIFTHFor Childhood, is a tender thing, easily wroughtinto any shape.PlutarchMAY SIXTHThe gilded evenings calm and lateWhen weary children homeward run.William Allingham

FEBRUARY TWENTY-NINTH

For what are all our contrivingsAnd the wisdom of all our booksWhen compared with your caressesAnd the gladness of your looks.Longfellow

For what are all our contrivings

And the wisdom of all our books

When compared with your caresses

And the gladness of your looks.

Longfellow

MARCH

MARCH FIRST

I am one who holds a treasureAnd a gem of wondrous cost;But I mar my heart's deep pleasureWith the fear it may be lost.. . . . . . . .Then spoke the Angel of mothersTo me, in gentle tone,"Be kind to the children of othersAnd thus deserve thine own."Julia Ward Howe

I am one who holds a treasure

And a gem of wondrous cost;

But I mar my heart's deep pleasure

With the fear it may be lost.

. . . . . . . .

Then spoke the Angel of mothers

To me, in gentle tone,

"Be kind to the children of others

And thus deserve thine own."

Julia Ward Howe

MARCH SECOND

Here at the portals thou dost standAnd, with thy little hand,Thou openest the mysterious gateInto the future's undiscovered land.Longfellow

Here at the portals thou dost stand

And, with thy little hand,

Thou openest the mysterious gate

Into the future's undiscovered land.

Longfellow

MARCH THIRD

Like children with violets playingIn the shade of the whispering trees.Charles Kingsley

Like children with violets playing

In the shade of the whispering trees.

Charles Kingsley

MARCH FOURTH

Infancy is the perpetual Messiah, which comesinto the arms of fallen men and pleads with them toreturn to ParadiseEmerson

Infancy is the perpetual Messiah, which comes

into the arms of fallen men and pleads with them to

return to Paradise

Emerson

MARCH FIFTH

Come to me O ye children!For I hear you at your playAnd the questions that perplexed meHave vanished quite away.Longfellow

Come to me O ye children!

For I hear you at your play

And the questions that perplexed me

Have vanished quite away.

Longfellow

MARCH SIXTH

A solemn thing it is to meTo look upon a babe that sleeps,Wearing in its spirit-deepsThe undeveloped mysteryOf our Adam's taint and woe,Which, when they developed be,Will not let it slumber so.Mrs. Browning

A solemn thing it is to me

To look upon a babe that sleeps,

Wearing in its spirit-deeps

The undeveloped mystery

Of our Adam's taint and woe,

Which, when they developed be,

Will not let it slumber so.

Mrs. Browning

MARCH SEVENTH

Some one had left the gate ajar,Heaven's gate, you know, my dear,And a baby angel winging byPeeped out on a scene most drear."Oh me!" he murmured in dulcet tones,"The old Earth needs more light;I guess I 'll fly a little wayAnd carry a sunbeam bright."Selected

Some one had left the gate ajar,Heaven's gate, you know, my dear,And a baby angel winging byPeeped out on a scene most drear.

Some one had left the gate ajar,

Heaven's gate, you know, my dear,

And a baby angel winging by

Peeped out on a scene most drear.

"Oh me!" he murmured in dulcet tones,"The old Earth needs more light;I guess I 'll fly a little wayAnd carry a sunbeam bright."Selected

"Oh me!" he murmured in dulcet tones,

"The old Earth needs more light;

I guess I 'll fly a little way

And carry a sunbeam bright."

Selected

MARCH EIGHTH

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,Fill up the interspersed vacanciesAnd momentary pauses of the thought!My babe so beautiful! It thrills my heartWith tender gladness thus to look at thee.S. T. Coleridge

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,

Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,

Fill up the interspersed vacancies

And momentary pauses of the thought!

My babe so beautiful! It thrills my heart

With tender gladness thus to look at thee.

S. T. Coleridge

MARCH NINTH

When I hustle home at evening,And the light shines from the door,An' I see my little babyRollin' happy on the floor,An' see Sister helpin' Mother,I'm as tickled as can beAn' there aint no King a-livin'That has got the best o' me.Judd Mortimer Lewis

When I hustle home at evening,

And the light shines from the door,

An' I see my little baby

Rollin' happy on the floor,

An' see Sister helpin' Mother,

I'm as tickled as can be

An' there aint no King a-livin'

That has got the best o' me.

Judd Mortimer Lewis

MARCH TENTH

O blossom boy! So calm in thy repose!So sweet a compromise of life and death,'Tis pity those fair buds shall e'er uncloseFor memory to stain their inward leaf,Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief.Hood

O blossom boy! So calm in thy repose!

So sweet a compromise of life and death,

'Tis pity those fair buds shall e'er unclose

For memory to stain their inward leaf,

Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief.

Hood

MARCH ELEVENTH

O let thy children lean aslantAgainst the tender mother's knee,And gaze into her face, and wantTo know what magic there can beIn words that urge some eyes to danceWhile others, as in holy trance,Look up to Heaven, be such my praise.Walter Savage Landor

O let thy children lean aslant

Against the tender mother's knee,

And gaze into her face, and want

To know what magic there can be

In words that urge some eyes to dance

While others, as in holy trance,

Look up to Heaven, be such my praise.

Walter Savage Landor

MARCH TWELFTH

Oh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep!A tender infant with its curtained eyeBreathing as it would neither live nor dieWith that unchanging countenance of sleep!Hood

Oh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep!

A tender infant with its curtained eye

Breathing as it would neither live nor die

With that unchanging countenance of sleep!

Hood

MARCH THIRTEENTH

Two faces o'er a cradle bent;Two hands above the head were locked,These pressed each other while they rocked,Those watched a life that love had sent.O solemn hour!O hidden power!George Eliot

Two faces o'er a cradle bent;

Two hands above the head were locked,

These pressed each other while they rocked,

Those watched a life that love had sent.

O solemn hour!O hidden power!George Eliot

O solemn hour!

O hidden power!

George Eliot

MARCH FOURTEENTH

To see a child so very fairIt was a pure delight.Wordsworth

To see a child so very fair

It was a pure delight.

Wordsworth

MARCH FIFTEENTH

The tree germ bears within itself the nature ofthe whole tree; the human being bears within itselfthe nature of all humanity, and is not, therefore,humanity born anew in each child?Froebel

The tree germ bears within itself the nature of

the whole tree; the human being bears within itself

the nature of all humanity, and is not, therefore,

humanity born anew in each child?

Froebel

MARCH SIXTEENTH

Thoughts of all fair and useful things,The hopes of early years;And childhood's purity and grace,And joys that like a rainbow chaseThe passing shower of tears.Bryant

Thoughts of all fair and useful things,

The hopes of early years;

And childhood's purity and grace,

And joys that like a rainbow chase

The passing shower of tears.

Bryant

Reprinted from Bryant's Complete Poetical Works by special permission, of D. Appleton & Co.

MARCH SEVENTEENTH

Sweet is the holiness of youth.Wordsworth

Sweet is the holiness of youth.

Wordsworth

MARCH EIGHTEENTH

All its dainty body, honey sweet,Clenched hands and curled up feetThat on the roses of the dawn have trodAs they came down from God.Swinburne

All its dainty body, honey sweet,

Clenched hands and curled up feet

That on the roses of the dawn have trod

As they came down from God.

Swinburne

MARCH NINETEENTH

Within my tender mother's arms I sported,I played at horse upon my grandsire's knee;Sorrow and care and anger, ill-reported,As little known as gold or Greek to me.Baggesen

Within my tender mother's arms I sported,

I played at horse upon my grandsire's knee;

Sorrow and care and anger, ill-reported,

As little known as gold or Greek to me.

Baggesen

MARCH TWENTIETH

How do you like to go up in a swingUp in the air so blue?Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thingEver a child can do!Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing

Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

Ever a child can do!Robert Louis Stevenson

Ever a child can do!

Robert Louis Stevenson

MARCH TWENTY-FIRST

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling!Mother sits beside thee smiling!Sleep my darling, tenderly!If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,Singing as her wheel she turneth;Come soft slumber, balmily.S. T. Coleridge

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling!

Mother sits beside thee smiling!

Sleep my darling, tenderly!

If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,

Singing as her wheel she turneth;

Come soft slumber, balmily.

S. T. Coleridge

MARCH TWENTY-SECOND

O sweet sleep-angel, throned nowOn the round glory of his brow!Wave thy wing and waft my vowBreathed over Baby Charley.I vow that my heart, when death is nigh,Shall never shiver with a sighFor act of hand or tongue or eyeThat wronged my Baby Charley.Sidney Lanier

O sweet sleep-angel, throned nowOn the round glory of his brow!Wave thy wing and waft my vowBreathed over Baby Charley.

O sweet sleep-angel, throned now

On the round glory of his brow!

Wave thy wing and waft my vow

Breathed over Baby Charley.

I vow that my heart, when death is nigh,Shall never shiver with a sighFor act of hand or tongue or eyeThat wronged my Baby Charley.Sidney Lanier

I vow that my heart, when death is nigh,

Shall never shiver with a sigh

For act of hand or tongue or eye

That wronged my Baby Charley.Sidney Lanier

That wronged my Baby Charley.

Sidney Lanier

MARCH TWENTY-THIRD

She seemed a thingOf Heaven's prime uncorrupted work, a childOf early nature undefiled,A daughter of the years of innocence,And, therefore, all things loved her.Southey

She seemed a thing

Of Heaven's prime uncorrupted work, a child

Of early nature undefiled,

A daughter of the years of innocence,

And, therefore, all things loved her.Southey

And, therefore, all things loved her.

Southey

MARCH TWENTY-FOURTH

Bairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tieThan aught in love the like of us can spy.Allan Ramsay

Bairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tie

Than aught in love the like of us can spy.

Allan Ramsay

MARCH TWENTY-FIFTH

Slumber little friend so wee,Joy thy joy is bringing.Bellman

Slumber little friend so wee,

Joy thy joy is bringing.

Bellman

MARCH TWENTY-SIXTH

Thou straggler into loving arms,Young climber up of knees,When I forget thy thousand waysThen life and all shall cease.Charles Lamb

Thou straggler into loving arms,

Young climber up of knees,

When I forget thy thousand ways

Then life and all shall cease.

Charles Lamb

MARCH TWENTY-SEVENTH

Where children are not, heaven is not, and heaven,If they come not again, shall be never!But the face and the voice of a child are assurancesof heaven and its promises forever.Swinburne

Where children are not, heaven is not, and heaven,

If they come not again, shall be never!

But the face and the voice of a child are assurances

of heaven and its promises forever.Swinburne

of heaven and its promises forever.

Swinburne

MARCH TWENTY-EIGHTH

O blessed vision! Happy child!Thou art so exquisitely wild,I think of thee with many fearsFor what may be thy lot in future years.Wordsworth

O blessed vision! Happy child!

Thou art so exquisitely wild,

I think of thee with many fears

For what may be thy lot in future years.

Wordsworth

MARCH TWENTY-NINTH

And with heaven in their hearts and their faces,Up rose the children all.Longfellow

And with heaven in their hearts and their faces,

Up rose the children all.

Longfellow

MARCH THIRTIETH

No baby in the house, I know,'T is far too nice and clean;No toys, by careless fingers strown,Upon the floors are seen.Clara G. Dolliver

No baby in the house, I know,

'T is far too nice and clean;

No toys, by careless fingers strown,

Upon the floors are seen.

Clara G. Dolliver

MARCH THIRTY-FIRST

The simple lessons which the nursery taughtFell soft and stainless on the buds of thought,And the full blossom owes its fairest hueTo those sweet tear drops of affection's dew.Holmes

The simple lessons which the nursery taught

Fell soft and stainless on the buds of thought,

And the full blossom owes its fairest hue

To those sweet tear drops of affection's dew.

Holmes

APRIL

APRIL FIRST

But Jesus said, Suffer the little children tocome unto me; for of such is the kingdom ofHeaven.Matt. xix. 14

But Jesus said, Suffer the little children to

come unto me; for of such is the kingdom of

Heaven.

Matt. xix. 14

APRIL SECOND

Sweet and low, sweet and low,Wind of the western sea,Low, low, breathe and blow,Wind of the western sea!Over the rolling waters go,Come from the dying moon and blow,Blow him again to me;While my little one, while my pretty one sleepsTennyson

Sweet and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea,

Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon and blow,

Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps

Tennyson

APRIL THIRD

My mother she's so good to me,If I was good as I could be,I couldn't be as good—no, sir!—Can't any boy be as good as her!She loves me when I'm glad er sad;She loves me when I'm good er bad,An', what's a funniest thing, she saysShe loves me when she punishes.James Whitcomb Riley

My mother she's so good to me,If I was good as I could be,I couldn't be as good—no, sir!—Can't any boy be as good as her!

My mother she's so good to me,

If I was good as I could be,

I couldn't be as good—no, sir!—

Can't any boy be as good as her!

She loves me when I'm glad er sad;She loves me when I'm good er bad,An', what's a funniest thing, she saysShe loves me when she punishes.James Whitcomb Riley

She loves me when I'm glad er sad;

She loves me when I'm good er bad,

An', what's a funniest thing, she says

She loves me when she punishes.

James Whitcomb Riley

From "Poems here at Home." Copyright, 1893-1898. Used by permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

APRIL FOURTH

The first train leaves at six P.M.For the land where the poppy blows,The mother dear is the engineer,And the passenger laughs and crows;The palace car is the mother's arms,The whistle a low sweet strain,And the passenger winks and nods and blinksAnd goes to sleep on the train.Edgar Wade Abbott

The first train leaves at six P.M.

For the land where the poppy blows,

The mother dear is the engineer,

And the passenger laughs and crows;

The palace car is the mother's arms,

The whistle a low sweet strain,

And the passenger winks and nods and blinks

And goes to sleep on the train.

Edgar Wade Abbott

APRIL FIFTH

In the house of too-much-troubleLived a lonely little boy;He was eager for a playmate,He was hungry for a toy.But 'twas always too much bother,Too much dirt and too much noise:For the house of too-much-troubleWasn't meant for little boys.Albert Bigelow Paine

In the house of too-much-trouble

Lived a lonely little boy;

He was eager for a playmate,

He was hungry for a toy.

But 'twas always too much bother,

Too much dirt and too much noise:

For the house of too-much-trouble

Wasn't meant for little boys.

Albert Bigelow Paine

APRIL SIXTH

I long for every childish, loving word;And for thy little footsteps, fairy light,That hither, thither moved and ever stirredMy heart with them to gladness infinite.Carmen Sylva

I long for every childish, loving word;

And for thy little footsteps, fairy light,

That hither, thither moved and ever stirred

My heart with them to gladness infinite.

Carmen Sylva

APRIL SEVENTH

A laugh of innocence and joyResounds like music of the fairest grace,And gladly turning from the world's annoy,I gaze upon a little radiant faceAnd bless internally the merry boyWho makes a "son-shine in a shady place."Hood

A laugh of innocence and joy

Resounds like music of the fairest grace,

And gladly turning from the world's annoy,

I gaze upon a little radiant face

And bless internally the merry boy

Who makes a "son-shine in a shady place."

Hood

APRIL EIGHTH

I had a little daughterAnd she was given to meTo lead me gently backwardTo the Heavenly Father's knee.Lowell

I had a little daughter

And she was given to me

To lead me gently backward

To the Heavenly Father's knee.

Lowell

APRIL NINTH

Did any one ever tell youTo "stop makin' such a noise,"When you wuz a-playin' Injun,An' war-whoopin' with the boys?Did any one never tell youYour manners wuz loud and bold?Then I guess you are one of the grown-upsAnd not a boy nine years old.Exchange

Did any one ever tell you

To "stop makin' such a noise,"

When you wuz a-playin' Injun,

An' war-whoopin' with the boys?

Did any one never tell you

Your manners wuz loud and bold?

Then I guess you are one of the grown-ups

And not a boy nine years old.

Exchange

APRIL TENTH

Let us call to mind the years before our littledaughter was born. We are now in the same conditionas then, except that the time she was with usis to be counted as an added blessing. Let us notungratefully accuse fortune for what was given usbecause we could not also have all that was desired.We should not be like misers who never enjoy whatthey have but only bewail what they lose.Plutarch

Let us call to mind the years before our little

daughter was born. We are now in the same condition

as then, except that the time she was with us

is to be counted as an added blessing. Let us not

ungratefully accuse fortune for what was given us

because we could not also have all that was desired.

We should not be like misers who never enjoy what

they have but only bewail what they lose.

Plutarch

APRIL ELEVENTH

And I, for one, would much rather;If I could merit so sweet a thing,Be the poet of little childrenThan the laureate of a King.Lucy Larcom

And I, for one, would much rather;

If I could merit so sweet a thing,

Be the poet of little children

Than the laureate of a King.

Lucy Larcom

APRIL TWELFTH

Ah! Child, what are we, that our earsShould hear you singing on your way,Should have this happiness?Swinburne

Ah! Child, what are we, that our ears

Should hear you singing on your way,

Should have this happiness?

Swinburne

APRIL THIRTEENTH

Speak gently to the young,For they will have enough to bear;Pass through life as best they may,'T is full of anxious care.David Bates

Speak gently to the young,

For they will have enough to bear;

Pass through life as best they may,

'T is full of anxious care.

David Bates

APRIL FOURTEENTH

My Mother's voice! how often creepsIts cadence on my lonely hours!Like healing sent on wings of sleep,Or dew to the unconscious flowers.I can forget her melting prayerWhile leaping pulses madly fly,But in the still unbroken airHer gentle tone comes stealing by,And years and sin and manhood fleeAnd leave me at my mother's knee.N. P. Willis

My Mother's voice! how often creeps

Its cadence on my lonely hours!

Like healing sent on wings of sleep,

Or dew to the unconscious flowers.

I can forget her melting prayer

While leaping pulses madly fly,

But in the still unbroken air

Her gentle tone comes stealing by,

And years and sin and manhood flee

And leave me at my mother's knee.

N. P. Willis

APRIL FIFTEENTH

And then her heart would warm with hope, perhaps,of what might be to come, of the overwhelmingpossibilities—how many of them, to her, lay inthe warm clasp of the child's hand that came pushinginto hers!Anne Thackeray Ritchie

And then her heart would warm with hope, perhaps,

of what might be to come, of the overwhelming

possibilities—how many of them, to her, lay in

the warm clasp of the child's hand that came pushing

into hers!

Anne Thackeray Ritchie

APRIL SIXTEENTH

The barb in the arrow of childhood's suffering isthis: its intense loneliness, its intense ignorance.Olive Schreiner

The barb in the arrow of childhood's suffering is

this: its intense loneliness, its intense ignorance.

Olive Schreiner

APRIL SEVENTEENTH

Like happy children in their play,Whose hearts run over into song.Lowell

Like happy children in their play,

Whose hearts run over into song.

Lowell

APRIL EIGHTEENTH

Ah! what would the world be to usIf the children were no more?We should dread the desert behind usWorse than the dark before.Longfellow

Ah! what would the world be to us

If the children were no more?

We should dread the desert behind us

Worse than the dark before.Longfellow

Worse than the dark before.

Longfellow

APRIL NINETEENTH

Who can tell what a baby thinks?Who can follow the gossamer linksBy which the manikin feels his wayOut from the shore of the great unknown,Blind and wailing and alone,Into the light of day?J. G. Holland

Who can tell what a baby thinks?

Who can follow the gossamer links

By which the manikin feels his way

Out from the shore of the great unknown,

Blind and wailing and alone,

Into the light of day?J. G. Holland

Into the light of day?

J. G. Holland

APRIL TWENTIETH

Dear little face, that lies in calm contentWithin the gracious hollow that God madeIn every human shoulder, where he meantSome tired head for comfort should be laid.Celia Thaxter

Dear little face, that lies in calm content

Within the gracious hollow that God made

In every human shoulder, where he meant

Some tired head for comfort should be laid.

Celia Thaxter

APRIL TWENTY-FIRST

This three-fold heaven, which you also bear withinyou, shines out on you through your child's eyes.Froebel

This three-fold heaven, which you also bear within

you, shines out on you through your child's eyes.

Froebel

APRIL TWENTY-SECOND

Dance little child, oh dance!While sweet the wild birds sing,And flowers bloom fair, and every glanceOf sunshine tells of Spring.Oh! bloom and sing and smileChild, bird and flower and makeThe sad old world forget awhile,Its sorrow for your sake.Celia Thaxter

Dance little child, oh dance!

While sweet the wild birds sing,

And flowers bloom fair, and every glance

Of sunshine tells of Spring.

Oh! bloom and sing and smile

Child, bird and flower and make

The sad old world forget awhile,

Its sorrow for your sake.

Celia Thaxter

APRIL TWENTY-THIRD

If the golden-crested wrenWere a nightingale, why, thenSomething seen and heard of menMight be half as sweet as whenLaughs a child of seven.Swinburne

If the golden-crested wren

Were a nightingale, why, then

Something seen and heard of men

Might be half as sweet as when

Laughs a child of seven.Swinburne

Laughs a child of seven.

Swinburne

APRIL TWENTY-FOURTH

O little ones whom I have foundAmong earth's green paths playing,Though listening far behind, around,There comes to me no sweeter soundThan words I hear you saying.Lucy Larcom

O little ones whom I have found

Among earth's green paths playing,

Though listening far behind, around,

There comes to me no sweeter sound

Than words I hear you saying.

Lucy Larcom

APRIL TWENTY-FIFTH

A child sees what we are, behind what we wishto be.Amiel

A child sees what we are, behind what we wish

to be.

Amiel

APRIL TWENTY-SIXTH

Dear Child! how radiant on thy Mother's knee,With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles,Thou gazest at the painted tiles.Longfellow

Dear Child! how radiant on thy Mother's knee,

With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles,

Thou gazest at the painted tiles.

Longfellow

APRIL TWENTY-SEVENTH

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:The soul that rises with us, our life's star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar;Not in entire forgetfulnessAnd not in utter nakedness,But trailing clouds of glory do we comeFrom God, who is our home.Wordsworth

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The soul that rises with us, our life's star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar;

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar;

Not in entire forgetfulness

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home.

Wordsworth

APRIL TWENTY-EIGHTH

Happy hearts and happy faces,Happy play in grassy places,That was how, in ancient ages,Children grew to kings and sages.Robert Louis Stevenson

Happy hearts and happy faces,

Happy play in grassy places,

That was how, in ancient ages,

Children grew to kings and sages.

Robert Louis Stevenson

APRIL TWENTY-NINTH

That wide-gazing calm which makes us older humanbeings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certainawe in the presence of a little child, such as we feelbefore some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky.George Eliot

That wide-gazing calm which makes us older human

beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain

awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel

before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky.

George Eliot

APRIL THIRTIETH

Her, by her smile, how soon the stranger knows,How soon by his the glad discovery shows,As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,What answering looks of sympathy and joy!He walks, he speaks. In many a broken wordHis wants, his wishes and his griefs are heard.And ever, ever to her lap he flies,When rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise.Samuel Rogers

Her, by her smile, how soon the stranger knows,

How soon by his the glad discovery shows,

As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,

What answering looks of sympathy and joy!

He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word

His wants, his wishes and his griefs are heard.

And ever, ever to her lap he flies,

When rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise.

Samuel Rogers

MAY

MAY FIRST

The child whose face illumes our way,Whose voice lifts up the heart that hears,Whose hand is as the hand of May.Swinburne

The child whose face illumes our way,

Whose voice lifts up the heart that hears,

Whose hand is as the hand of May.

Swinburne

MAY SECOND

Baby's skies are mother's eyes,Mother's eyes and smiles togetherMake the Baby's pleasant weather.Selected

Baby's skies are mother's eyes,

Mother's eyes and smiles together

Make the Baby's pleasant weather.

Selected

MAY THIRD

Oh, when I was a tiny boyMy days and nights were full of joyHood

Oh, when I was a tiny boy

My days and nights were full of joy

Hood

MAY FOURTH

Sweet babe, in thy faceSoft desires I can trace,Secret joys and secret smiles,Little pretty infant wiles.William Blake

Sweet babe, in thy face

Soft desires I can trace,

Secret joys and secret smiles,

Little pretty infant wiles.

William Blake

MAY FIFTH

For Childhood, is a tender thing, easily wroughtinto any shape.Plutarch

For Childhood, is a tender thing, easily wrought

into any shape.

Plutarch

MAY SIXTH

The gilded evenings calm and lateWhen weary children homeward run.William Allingham

The gilded evenings calm and late

When weary children homeward run.

William Allingham

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