| By Author | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Title | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Language |
|
Download this book: [ ASCII | HTML | PDF ] Look for this book on Amazon Tweet |
Title: A Mother's Year Book
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A Mother's Year Book" ***
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: (woman and baby)]
[Illustration: Title page]
A MOTHER’S
YEAR-BOOK
EDITED BY
FRANCIS McKINNON MORTON
AND
MARY McKINNON McSWAIN
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y CROWELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1911,_
BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY.
*PREFACE*
This little volume has been compiled for mothers and is lovingly offered
as a tribute to the memory of the almost perfect mother whose love
cradled my own childhood so sweetly as to make all motherhood forever
more dear to me.
It seems to be true that the years of a woman’s life that sink deepest
into her heart and are fraught with her keenest joy and pain are the
years when her little children are clinging about her skirts. Then it is
that she is truly "wealthy with small cares, and small hands clinging to
her knees." But then, too, she is often too busy with the passing of
the full days and the long nights, so often punctuated by the restless
clinging of rosy fingers and all the dear demands of babyhood, to
realize fully how blest are the days through which she is living.
It is especially for the busy mother that I have gathered this little
collection of beautiful thoughts about childhood and motherhood, from
some of the world’s best thinkers.
I hope it may bring to some of them as much pleasure in the reading as
it has to me in the preparation.
The selections from the writings of Lucy Larcom, Holmes, Whittier,
Longfellow, Emerson, Lowell, Celia Thaxter, and Edith Thomas are used by
the courteous permission of the authorized publishers of these writers,
the Houghton Mifflin Company.
The selections from the writings of Robert Louis Stevenson are from "A
Child’s Garden of Verses."
The selection from Sidney Lanier is taken from "The Poems of Sidney
Lanier." Both are published by Charles Scribner’s Sons and the
selections are used by permission of that firm. The little poem from
Eugene Field is also used by special arrangement with Charles Scribner’s
Sons, the authorized publishers of the works of Eugene Field.
The selections from the book called "The Finest Baby in the World" are
used by the courtesy of its publishers, the Fleming H. Revell Company.
The selection from Ruth McEnery Stuart is taken from "Napoleon Jackson,"
published by the Century Company, and is used with their permission.
The selection from the writings of Lewis Carroll is taken from the
"Adventures of Alice in Wonderland" and is used by permission of the
publishers, the Macmillan Company.
Acknowledgment is also made to the Bobbs-Merrill Company for the use of
the selections from the writings of James Whitcomb Riley, and to D.
Appleton & Co. for the selections from Bryant.
Acknowledgment is due the courtesy of the New York _Sun_ and the Denver
_News_ for the use of the selections credited to them.
An effort has been made to find the name and the author of each
selection used so that proper credit could be given with each. This has
not been always possible and I have chosen not to leave out a beautiful
selection on that account.
George MacDonald says, "He who drops a beautiful thought into the heart
of a friend gives as the angels do"; and Emerson says that "Next to the
originator of a beautiful thought is the one who first quotes it." So I
do not think that any one who has said anything beautiful about
childhood would wish to be left out of a Mother’s Year Book even if the
credit for his work was not given quite correctly.
FRANCIS MCKINNON MORTON.
*JANUARY*
JANUARY FIRST
Where did you come from, Baby Dear?
Out of the Everywhere into the here.
. . . . . . . .
But how did you come to us, you Dear?
God thought of you and so I am here.
_George MacDonald_
JANUARY SECOND
What is the dream in the Baby’s eyes
As he lies and blinks in a mute surprise?
. . . . . . . .
Bathed in the dawnlight, what does he see
That slow years have hidden from you and from me?
_Tom Cordry_
JANUARY THIRD
Little Life from out the life Divine,
Little heart so near and dear to mine,
Little bark, new-launched upon Life’s sea
Floating o’er the tide to mine and me,
Little comer on our shore of time,
Little ray from out God’s great sublime,
Little traveller from Eternity
May my love protect and shelter thee.
_The Denver News_
JANUARY FOURTH
What shall we wrap the Baby in?
Nothing that fingers have woven will do:
Looms of the heart weave ever anew:
Love, only Love is the right thread to spin
Love we must wrap the Baby in.
_Lucy Larcom_
JANUARY FIFTH
Look at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my King!
For round thee the purple shadow lies
Of babyhood’s regal dignities.
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand,
With Love’s invisible scepter laden;
I am thine Esther to command,
Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden,
Philip, my King!
_Dinah Mulock Craik_
JANUARY SIXTH
Nay, but our children in our midst,
What else but our hearts are they,
Walking on the ground?
If but the breeze blew harsh on one of them,
Mine eye says "No" to slumber all night long.
_From the "Hamasah"_
_Hittan idnibn al-Mu’alla of Tayyi_
JANUARY SEVENTH
We must take all our children bring us whether it
be Joy or Pain.
_Auerbach_
JANUARY EIGHTH
Oh child, what news from Heaven?
_Swinburne_
JANUARY NINTH
Sweet floweret, pledge o’ meikle love,
And ward o’ mony a prayer,
What heart o’ stane wad thou na move,
Sae helpless, sweet and fair?
_Robert Burns_
JANUARY TENTH
His child’s unsullied purity demands
The deepest reverence at a parent’s hands.
_Juvenal_
JANUARY ELEVENTH
Little Gossip, blithe and hale,
Tattling many a broken tale,
Singing many a tuneless song,
Lavish of a heedless tongue,
Simple maid, void of art,
Babbling out thy very heart.
_Ambrose Phillips_
JANUARY TWELFTH
O child! O new-born denizen
Of Life’s great city! On thy head
The glory, of the morn is shed
Like a celestial benison.
_Longfellow_
JANUARY THIRTEENTH
Ah! This taking to one’s arms a little group of
souls, fresh from the hand of God, and living with
them in loving companionship through all their
stainless years is, or ought to be, like living in Heaven,
for of such is the Heavenly Kingdom.
_J. G. Holland_
JANUARY FOURTEENTH
The sun of dawn,
That brightens through the mother’s tender eyes.
_Tennyson_
JANUARY FIFTEENTH
We are so dull and thankless; and too slow
To catch the sunshine till it slips away,
And now it seems surpassing strange to me
That while I wore the badge of Motherhood,
I did not kiss more oft and tenderly
The little child that brought me only good.
_Mary Louise Riley Smith_
JANUARY SIXTEENTH
Children are God’s apostles, day by day
Sent forth to preach of Love and Hope and Peace.
_Lowell_
JANUARY SEVENTEENTH
She has forgotten her sufferings for joy that the
child is born.
_Kipling_
JANUARY EIGHTEENTH
A Baby’s feet, like sea-shells pink,
Might tempt, should Heaven see meet,
An angel’s lips to kiss, we think,
A Baby’s feet.
Like rose-hued sea flowers, toward the heart
They stretch and spread and wink
Their ten soft buds that part and meet.
_Swinburne_
JANUARY NINETEENTH
Greek babies were like the babies of modern
Europe: equally troublesome, equally delightful to
their parents, equally uninteresting to the rest of
society.
_Mahaffy_
JANUARY TWENTIETH
They knew as I do now, what keen delight
A strong man feels to watch the tender flight
Of little children playing in his sight.
_Edmund Gosse_
JANUARY TWENTY-FIRST
The child would twine
A trustful hand, unasked in thine
And find his comfort in thy face.
_Tennyson_
JANUARY TWENTY-SECOND
This little seed of life and love,
Just lent us for a day.
_Parsons_
JANUARY TWENTY-THIRD
Pray for the infant’s soul:
With its spirit crown unsoiled.
_Philip James Bailey_
JANUARY TWENTY-FOURTH
Child of brighter than the morning’s birth,
And lovelier than all smiles that may be smiled
Save only of little children undefiled,
Sweet, perfect, witless of their own dear worth,
Like rose of love, mute melody of mirth,
Glad as a bird is when the woods are mild,
Adorable as is nothing save a child,
Hails with wide eyes and lips on earth,
His lovely life with all its heaven to be.
_Swinburne_
JANUARY TWENTY-FIFTH
Where has he gone to, Mother’s boy,
Little plaid dresses and curls of joy?
Who is this Gentleman, haughty in glance
Walking around in a new pair of pants?
_Folger McKinsey_
JANUARY TWENTY-SIXTH
It is very nice to think
The world is full of meat and drink,
With little children saying grace
In every Christian kind of place.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
JANUARY TWENTY-SEVENTH
Did truth on earth ever hide,
Hath innocence anywhere smiled,
Did purity anywhere bide,
They are found in the eyes of a child.
_Harry Alexander Moore_
JANUARY TWENTY-EIGHTH
Now he thinks he ’ll go to sleep:
I can see the shadows creep
Over his eyes in soft eclipse,
Over his brow and over his lips,
Out to his little finger tips:
Softly sinking down he goes!
Down he goes! Down he goes!
See! He is hushed in sweet repose!
_J. G. Holland_
JANUARY TWENTY-NINTH
To what shall I liken her smiling
Upon me, her kneeling lover?
How it leaped from her lips to her eyelids,
And dimpled her wholly over,
Till her outstretched hands smiled also
And I almost seem to see
The very heart of her mother
Sending sun, through her veins, to me.
_Lowell_
JANUARY THIRTIETH
Innocent child and snow-white flower,
Well are ye paired in your opening hour!
_Reprinted from Bryant’s Complete Poetical Works, by permission of D.
Appleton & Company._
JANUARY THIRTY-FIRST
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said,
For ye are living poems
And all the rest are dead.
_Longfellow_
*FEBRUARY*
FEBRUARY FIRST
I wonder so that mothers ever fret
At little children clinging to their gown;
Or that the footprints, when the days are wet
Are ever black enough to make them frown,
If I could find a little muddy boot,
Or cap or jacket on my chamber floor,
If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot
And hear it patter in my house once more;
If I could mend a broken cart to-day,
To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky—
There is no woman in God’s world could say
She was more blissfully content than I.
_Mary Louise Riley Smith_
FEBRUARY SECOND
The very souls of children readily receive the
impressions of those things that are dropped into
them while they are yet but soft.
_Plutarch_
FEBRUARY THIRD
As babes will sigh for deep content
When their sweet hearts for peace make room,
As given, not lent.
_Jean Ingelow_
FEBRUARY FOURTH
Childhood soberly she wears,
Taking hold of woman’s cares
Through love’s outreach, unawares.
_Lucy Larcom_
FEBRUARY FIFTH
I searched for love through many a weary mile,
Till, sick and weary, to my homestead turning
Thou earnest to greet me with a mother’s smile
And there upon thy dearest features burning
I saw that love I long had sought in vain.
_Heine_
FEBRUARY SIXTH
And still the children listed, their blue eyes
Fixed on their mother’s face in wide surprise.
_Matthew Arnold_
FEBRUARY SEVENTH
So we will not sell the Baby!
Your gold and gems and stuff,
Were they ever so rare and precious
Would never be half enough!
For what would we care, My Dearie,
What glory the world put on,
If our beautiful darling was going,
If our beautiful darling was gone.
_Selected_
FEBRUARY EIGHTH
The happy children! Full of frank surprise,
And sudden whims and innocent ecstacies:
What Godhead sparkles from their liquid eyes.
_Edmund Gosse_
FEBRUARY NINTH
In him woke
With his first babe’s first cry, the noble wish
To save all earnings to the uttermost,
And give his child a better bringing up
Than his had been, or hers.
_Tennyson_
FEBRUARY TENTH
Children have more need of models than of critics.
_Joubert_
FEBRUARY ELEVENTH
I wait for my story—the birds cannot sing it,
Not one as he sits on his tree;
The bells can not ring it, but long years oh, bring it
Such as I wish it to be.
_Jean Ingelow_
FEBRUARY TWELFTH
Thou who didst not erst deny
The mother-joy to Mary mild,
Blessed in the blessed child.
Which hearkened in meek babyhood
Her cradle hymn, albeit used
To all that music interfused
In breasts of angels high and good.
_Mrs. Browning_
FEBRUARY THIRTEENTH
So sits the while at home the mother well content.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH
What use to me the gold and silver hoard?
What use to me the gems most rich and rare?
Brighter by far—aye, bright beyond compare,
The joys my children to my heart afford.
_From the Japanese_
FEBRUARY FIFTEENTH
Never to living ears came sweeter sounds
Than when I heard thee, by our own fireside
First uttering, without words, a natural tune
While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy
Sing at thy mother’s breast.
_Wordsworth_
FEBRUARY SIXTEENTH
A woman lives
Not bettered, quickened toward the truth and good
Through being a mother?
_Mrs. Browning_
FEBRUARY SEVENTEENTH
One’s early life is certainly a great deal more
amusing to look back to than it used to be while it was
going on.
_Anne Thackeray Ritchie_
FEBRUARY EIGHTEENTH
When thou hast taken thy repast,
Repose my babe on me;
So may thy mother and thy nurse
Thy cradle also be.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy.
_Anonymous_
FEBRUARY NINETEENTH
Ere thy lips learn, too soon,
Their soft, first human tune,
Sweet, but less sweet than now,
And thy raised eyes to read
Glad and good things indeed,
But none so sweet as thou.
_Swinburne_
FEBRUARY TWENTIETH
Beat upon mine, little heart! beat! beat!
Beat upon mine! You are mine, my sweet!
All mine, from your pretty blue eyes to your feet.
_Tennyson_
FEBRUARY TWENTY-FIRST
What is the little one thinking about?
Very wonderful things no doubt!
Unwritten history!
Unfathomed mystery!
_J. G. Holland_
FEBRUARY TWENTY-SECOND
The real education of children is to keep them at
work and make them unselfish.
_Ambrosias_
FEBRUARY TWENTY-THIRD
Then be contented.
Thou hast got
The most of Heaven in thy young lot;
There’s sky blue in thy cup.
_Hood_
FEBRUARY TWENTY-FOURTH
Her infancy, a wonder-working charm,
Laid hold upon his love.
_Jean Ingelow_
FEBRUARY TWENTY-FIFTH
So for the mother’s sake the child was dear,
And dearer was the mother for the child.
_S. T. Coleridge_
FEBRUARY TWENTY-SIXTH
A kiss when the day is over,
A kiss when the day begins,
My mamma’s as full of kisses
As a nurse is full of pins.
_Selected_
FEBRUARY TWENTY-SEVENTH
The child-heart is so strange a little thing,
So mild, so timorously shy and small,
When grown-up hearts throb, it goes scampering
Behind the wall, nor dares peer out at all!
It is the veriest mouse
That hides in any house!
So wild a thing is any child-heart!
_James Whitcomb Riley_
_From "A Child World." Copyright, 1897. Used by special permission of
the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._
FEBRUARY TWENTY-EIGHTH
Out of the dark, sweet sleep
Where no dreams laugh or weep,
Borne through the bright gates of birth
Into the dim sweet light
Where day still dreams of night,
While heaven takes form on earth.
_Swinburne_
FEBRUARY TWENTY-NINTH
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 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 stand
And, with thy little hand,
Thou openest the mysterious gate
Into the future’s undiscovered land.
_Longfellow_
MARCH THIRD
Like children with violets playing
In the shade of the whispering trees.
_Charles Kingsley_
MARCH FOURTH
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 play
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.
_Longfellow_
MARCH SIXTH
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 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 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 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 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 unclose
For memory to stain their inward leaf,
Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief.
_Hood_
MARCH ELEVENTH
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 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_
MARCH FOURTEENTH
To see a child so very fair
It was a pure delight.
_Wordsworth_
MARCH FIFTEENTH
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 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_
MARCH EIGHTEENTH
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_
MARCH TWENTIETH
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_
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_
MARCH TWENTY-SECOND
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 sigh
For act of hand or tongue or eye
That wronged my Baby Charley.
_Sidney Lanier_
MARCH TWENTY-THIRD
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_
MARCH TWENTY-FOURTH
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_
MARCH TWENTY-SIXTH
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 assurances
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 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_
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_
MARCH THIRTY-FIRST
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 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 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 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 blinks
And goes to sleep on the train.
_Edgar Wade Abbott_
APRIL FIFTH
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 stirred
My heart with them to gladness infinite.
_Carmen Sylva_
APRIL SEVENTH
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 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 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 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 children
Than the laureate of a King.
_Lucy Larcom_
APRIL TWELFTH
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_
APRIL FOURTEENTH
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 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 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_
APRIL EIGHTEENTH
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_
APRIL NINETEENTH
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_
APRIL TWENTIETH
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 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 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 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_
APRIL TWENTY-FOURTH
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 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_
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 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_
APRIL TWENTY-NINTH
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 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_
MAY SECOND
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 boy
My days and nights were full of joy
_Hood_
MAY FOURTH
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 wrought
into any shape.
_Plutarch_
MAY SIXTH
The gilded evenings calm and late
When weary children homeward run.
_William Allingham_
MAY SEVENTH
Make your children happy in their youth; let
distinction come to them, if it will, after well-spent
years but let them now break and eat the bread of
Heaven with gladness and singleness of heart and
send portions to them for whom nothing is prepared;
and so Heaven send you its grace before meat
and after it.
_Ruskin_
MAY EIGHTH
The babe by its mother
Lies bathed in joy,
Glide its hours uncounted,
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all its being,
Without cloud, in its eyes,
And the sun of the world
In soft miniature lies.
_Emerson_
MAY NINTH
In those days life was a simple matter to the
children; their days and their legs lengthened together.
_Anne Thackeray Ritchie_
MAY TENTH
Timely blossom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn and every night
Their solicitous delight,
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleasing without skill to please.
_Ambrose Phillips_
MAY ELEVENTH
Then the face of a mother looks back, through the mist
Of the tears that are welling; and, lucent with light,
I see the dear smile of the lips I have kissed
As she knelt by my cradle at morning and night;
And my arms are outheld with a yearning too wild
For any but God in His love to inspire,
As she pleads at the foot of His throne for her child—
As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire.
_James Whitcomb Riley_
_From "Rhymes of Childhood." Copyright, 1890-1898. Used by special
permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merritt Company._
MAY TWELFTH
A child’s kiss set on thy sighing lips shall make
thee glad.
_Mrs. Browning_
MAY THIRTEENTH
I can not say, and I will not say
That he is dead.—He is just away!
With a cheery smile and a wave of the hand,
He has wandered into an unknown land,
And left us dreaming how very fair
It must be since he lingers there.
_James Whitcomb Riley_
_From "Afterwhiles." Copyright, 1903. Used by permission of the
publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._
MAY FOURTEENTH
"Rock-a-bye, baby, up in the tree top!"
Mother his blanket is spinning;
And a light little rustle that never will stop
Breezes and boughs are beginning,
Rock-a-bye, baby, swinging so high!
Rock-a-bye.
_Lucy Larcom_
MAY FIFTEENTH
God’s hand had taken away the seal
That held the portals of her speech;
And oft she said a few strange words
Whose meaning lay beyond our reach
_Thomas Bailey Aldrich_
MAY SIXTEENTH
Happy the child who is suffered to be and content
to be what God meant it to be; a child while
childhood lasts.
_Robertson_
MAY SEVENTEENTH
When first thy infant littleness
I folded in my fond caress,
The greatest proof of happiness
Was this I wept.
_Hood_
MAY EIGHTEENTH
His mother’s conscious heart o’erflows with joy.
_Homer’s Iliad_
MAY NINETEENTH
For the pure clean wit of a sweet young babe is
like the newest wax, most able to receive the best
and fairest printing.
_Roger Ascham_
MAY TWENTIETH
At eve the babes with angels converse hold.
_Victor Hugo_
MAY TWENTY-FIRST
Ilka body smiled that met her,
Nane were glad that said farewell;
Never was a blither, better,
Bonnier bairn frae croon to heel!
_MacLeod_
MAY TWENTY-SECOND
His father’s counterfeit,
And his face the index be
Of his mother’s chastity.
_Catullus_
MAY TWENTY-THIRD
And, rosy from the noonday sleep,
Would bear thee to admiring kin,
And all thy pretty looks would keep
My heart within.
_Jean Ingelow_
MAY TWENTY-FOURTH
I long to feel thy little arms embrace,
Thy silver-sounding voice to hear,
I long for thy warm kisses on my face,
And for thy birdlike carol, blythe and clear.
_Carmen Sylva_
MAY TWENTY-FIFTH
All holy influences dwell within
The breast of childhood; instincts fresh from God
Inspire it, ere the heart beneath the rod
Of grief hath bled, or caught the plague of sin.
_Sir Aubrey de Vere_
MAY TWENTY-SIXTH
The mother represents goodness, providence, law,
that is to say, the divinity, under that form of it
which is accessible to childhood.
_Amiel_
MAY TWENTY-SEVENTH
Earth’s creeds may be seventy times seven
And blood have defiled each creed;
If, of such is the Kingdom of Heaven,
It must be Heaven indeed.
_Swinburne_
MAY TWENTY-EIGHTH
No song quite worth a young child’s ears
Broke ever even from birds in May.
_Swinburne_
MAY TWENTY-NINTH
And remain through all bewildering,
Innocent and honest children.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
MAY THIRTIETH
Before life’s sweetest mystery still
The heart in reverence kneels;
The wonder of the primal birth
The latest mother feels.
_Whittier_
MAY THIRTY-FIRST
O, The days gone by! O, the days gone by!
The music of the laughing lip, the luster of the eye;
The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin’s magic ring—
The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in every thing.—
When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh,
In the golden, olden glory of the days gone by.
_James Whitcomb Riley_
_"Rhymes of Childhood." Copyright, 1890-1898. Used by permission of the
publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._
*JUNE*
JUNE FIRST
Would ye learn the way to Laughtertown,
Oh, ye who have lost the way?
Would ye have young hearts, though your hair be gray?
Go learn from a little child each day;
Go serve his wants and play his play,
And catch the lilt of his laughter gay,
And follow his dancing feet as they stray,
For he knows the road to Laughtertown
Oh, ye who have lost the way!
_Katherine D. Blake_
JUNE SECOND
What school of learning or of moral endeavor
depends on its teacher more than the home upon the
mother.
_Donald G. Mitchell_
JUNE THIRD
What price could pay with earth’s whole weight of gold,
One least flushed roseleaf’s fold
Of all this dimpling store of smiles that shine
From each warm curve and line?
_Swinburne_
JUNE FOURTH
Sometimes when I bin bad
An’ Pa "correcks" me, nen
An’ Uncle Sidney he comes here
I’m allus good again;
Cause Uncle Sidney says,
An’ takes me up an’ smiles,
The goodest mens they is ain’t good
As baddest little childs.
_James Whitcomb Riley_
_"Rhymes of Childhood." Copyright, 1890-1898. Used by special
permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._
JUNE FIFTH
Since then God has willed that children should be
to us in the place of preceptors, we judge that we
owe to them the most diligent attention.
_Comenius_
JUNE SIXTH
He was so sweet, that oft his mother said,
O, child, how was it that I dwelt content
Before thou camest?
_Jean Ingelow_
JUNE SEVENTH
Thrice happy state again to be
The trusting infant on the knee!
Who lets his rosy fingers play
About his Mother’s neck, and knows
Nothing beyond his Mother’s eyes;
They comfort him by night and day,
They light his little life alway.
_Tennyson_
JUNE EIGHTH
I see in every child the possibility of a perfect man.
_Froebel_
JUNE NINTH
Where indeed can the modest and earnest virtue
of a woman tell a stronger story of its worth than
upon the dawning habit of a child?
_Donald G. Mitchell_
JUNE TENTH
The expectant wee-things, toddlin’ stacher through
To meet their Dad, wi’ flichterin’ noise an’ glee,
His wee-bit Ingle blinkin’ bonnily,
His clean hearth-stone, his thrifty wifie’s smile,
The lispin’ infant prattling on his knee,
Does a’ his weary carking cares beguile,
An’ makes him quite forget his labor and his toil.
_Robert Burns_
JUNE ELEVENTH
To feel sudden, at a wink,
Some dear child we used to scold,
Praise, love both ways, kiss and tease,
Teach and tumble as our own,
All its curls about our knees,
Rise up suddenly full-grown.
_Mrs. Browning_
JUNE TWELFTH
I thought a child was given to sanctify a woman.
_Mrs. Browning_
JUNE THIRTEENTH
Under the roof-tree of his home the boy feels safe;
and where, in the whole realm of life, with its bitter
toils and bitter temptations, will he feel safe again?
_Donald G. Mitchell_
JUNE FOURTEENTH
The heart which plays in life its part,
With love elate, with loss forlorn,
Is still, through all, the child’s pure heart
My Mother gave when I was born.
_Sully-Prudhomme_
JUNE FIFTEENTH
The hyacinthine boy, for whom
Morn well might break and April bloom.
_Emerson_
JUNE SIXTEENTH
And the mother spoils all her scolding with a
perfect shower of kisses.
_Donald G. Mitchell_
JUNE SEVENTEENTH
But not a child to kiss his lips,
Well-a-day!
And that’s a difference sad to see
Betwixt my lord the king and me.
_Charles Mackay_
JUNE EIGHTEENTH
There falls not from the height of day,
When sunlight speaks and silence hears,
So sweet a psalm as children play
And sing each hour of all their years,
Each moment of their lovely way,
And know not how it thrills our ears.
_Swinburne_
JUNE NINETEENTH
But all of the things that belong to the day
Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;
And flowers and children close their eyes
Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
JUNE TWENTIETH
O prayer of childhood! Simple, innocent;
O infant slumbers! Peaceful, pure and light;
O happy worship! Ever gay with smiles,
Meet prelude to the harmonies of night;
As birds beneath the wing enfold their head,
Nestled in prayer, the infant seeks its bed.
_Victor Hugo_
JUNE TWENTY-FIRST
In the little childish heart below
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shine out in happy overflow
From her blue, bright eyes.
_Westwood_
JUNE TWENTY-SECOND
And when she saw her tender little babe,
She felt how much the happy days of life
Outweigh the sorrowful.
_Jean Ingelow_
JUNE TWENTY-THIRD
Between tears and smiles, the year, like the child,
struggles into warmth and life.
_Donald G. Mitchell_
JUNE TWENTY-FOURTH
The months that touch, with added grace,
This little prattler at my knee,
In whose arch eye and speaking face
New meaning every hour I see.
_Bryant_
_Reprinted from Bryant’s Complete Poetical Works by permission of D.
Appleton & Co._
JUNE TWENTY-FIFTH
Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.
_Longfellow_
JUNE TWENTY-SIXTH
The adorable, sweet, living, marvellous,
Strange light that lightens us
Who gaze, desertless of such grace,
Full in a babe’s warm face.
_Swinburne_
JUNE TWENTY-SEVENTH
Do not think the youth has no force because he
can not speak to you and me.
_Emerson_
JUNE TWENTY-EIGHTH
Birds in the night, that softly call,
Winds in the night, that strangely sigh,
Come to me, help me, one and all,
And murmur baby’s lullaby.
_Lionel H. Lewin_
JUNE TWENTY-NINTH
’Tis grand to be six years old, dear,
With pence in a money box,
To ride on a wooden horse, dear,
And leave off baby socks.
_F. E. Weatherly_
JUNE THIRTIETH
Infancy conforms to nobody; all conform to it,
so that one babe commonly makes four or five out
of the adults who prattle and play to it.
_Emerson_
*JULY*
JULY FIRST
A little child, a limber elf,
Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with rosy cheeks,
That always finds and never seeks,
Makes such a vision to my sight
As fills a father’s eye with light.
_S. T. Coleridge_
JULY SECOND
Bright-featured as the July sun
Her little face still played in,
And splendors, with her birth begun,
Had had no time for fading.
_Mrs. Browning_
JULY THIRD
The evening star doth o’er thee peep,
To watch thy slumber bright;
My little child, now go to sleep
Safe in God’s loving sight.
_George Cooper_
JULY FOURTH
God promises the children heavenly play,
And blooms in meadows queenly.
_Ingemann_
JULY FIFTH
But still I feel that His embrace
Slides down by thrills through all things made,
Through sight and sound of every place;
As if my tender mother laid,
On my shut lids her kisses pressure:
Half waking me at night; and said:
"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?"
_Mrs. Browning_
JULY SIXTH
Even happier than the young wife who feels for
the first time consciousness of her motherhood.
_Chateaubriand_
JULY SEVENTH
And the least of us all that love him
May take, for a moment, part
With Angels around and above him,
And I find place in his heart.
_Swinburne_
JULY EIGHTH
The streamlet murmurs on its way;
Dew falls at set of sun;
The birds grow still at hush of day,
So sleep, my little one.
_George Cooper_
JULY NINTH
The child was happy;
Like a spirit of the air she moved,
Wayward, yet, by all who knew her,
For her tender heart beloved.
_Wordsworth_
JULY TENTH
My mother’s voice, so forgotten yet so familiar,
so unutterably dear!
_George Du Maurier_
JULY ELEVENTH
But were another childhood-world my share,
I would be born a little sister there.
_George Eliot_
JULY TWELFTH
With what a look of proud command
Thou shakest, in thy little hand,
The coral rattle, with its silver bells,
Making a merry tune.
_Longfellow_
JULY THIRTEENTH
Let childhood’s radiant mist the free child yet
enfold.
_Hemans_
JULY FOURTEENTH
Be it, therefore, O mother, your sacred duty to
make your darling early feel the working of both
the outer and the inner light.
_Froebel_
JULY FIFTEENTH
We do not know
How he may soften at the sight of the child:
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades when speaking fails.
_Shakespeare_
JULY SIXTEENTH
Yet nothing is so radiant and so fair
As ——
To see the light of babes about the house.
_Euripides_
JULY SEVENTEENTH
Through the gladness of little children
Are the frostiest lives kept warm.
_Lucy Larcom_
JULY EIGHTEENTH
As on the father’s care-worn cheek
The ringlets of his child;
The golden mingling with the gray,
And stealing half its snows away.
_Holmes_
JULY NINETEENTH
There’s one angel belongs to you on earth and
that’s your mother.
_Auerbach_
JULY TWENTIETH
Love that lives and stands up recreated,
Then when life has ebbed and anguish fled,
Love more strong than death or all things fated,
Child’s and mother’s, lit by love and led.
_Swinburne_
JULY TWENTY-FIRST
Let us live with our children; so shall their lives
bring peace and joy to us; so shall we begin to be
and to become wise.
_Froebel_
JULY TWENTY-SECOND
And thou, my boy, that silent at my knee,
Dost lift to mine thy soft, dark, earnest eyes,
Filled with the love of childhood, which I see,
Pure through its depths, a thing without disguise.
_Hemans_
JULY TWENTY-THIRD
Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can.
_Hood_
JULY TWENTY-FOURTH
A tiny thing,
Whom, when it slept, the lovely mother nursed
With reverent love; whom, when it woke she fed
And wondered at, and lost herself in long
Rapture of watching and contentment deep.
_Jean Ingelow_
JULY TWENTY-FIFTH
But more sweet
Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet,
The light of little children and their love.
_Swinburne_
JULY TWENTY-SIXTH
Full often it falls out, by fortune from God,
That a man and a maid may marry in this world,
Find cheer in the child whom they nourish and care for
Tenderly tend it until the time comes,
Beyond the first years, when, the young limbs increasing,
Grown firm with life’s fulness, are formed for their work;
Fond father and mother so guide it and feed it,
Give gifts to it, clothe it: God only can know
What lot to its latter days life has to bring.
_Anglo-Saxon Poem_
JULY TWENTY-SEVENTH
But children holds he dearest of the dear.
_Ingemann_
JULY TWENTY-EIGHTH
Brightest and hardiest of roses anear and afar,
Glitters the blithe little face of you, round as a star;
Liberty bless you and keep you to be as you are.
_Swinburne_
JULY TWENTY-NINTH
We could not wish her whiter—her
Who perfumed with pure blossom
The house—a lovely thing to wear
Upon a mother’s bosom.
_Mrs. Browning_
JULY THIRTIETH
The gracious boy, who did adorn
The world whereunto he was born,
And by his countenance repay
The favor of the loving day.
_Emerson_
JULY THIRTY-FIRST
Yet the hearts must childlike be,
Where such heavenly guests abide;
Unto children in their glee,
All the year is Christmas-tide.
_Lewis Carroll_
*AUGUST*
AUGUST FIRST
Weave him a beautiful dream, little breeze!
Little leaves, nestle around him!
He will remember the song of the trees,
When age with silver has crowned him.
Rock-a-bye baby, wake by and by,
Rock-a-bye.
_Lucy Larcom_
AUGUST SECOND
Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
_Shakespeare_
AUGUST THIRD
But surely, the just sky will never wink
At men who take delight in childish throe,
And stripe the nether urchin like a pink.
_Hood_
AUGUST FOURTH
Happy he!
With such a mother, faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
Comes easy to him.
_Tennyson_
AUGUST FIFTH
I have not so far left the coasts of life
To travel inland, that I cannot hear
That murmur of the outer Infinite
Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep,
When wondered at for smiling.
_Mrs. Browning_
AUGUST SIXTH
In rearing a child think of its old age.
_Joubert_
AUGUST SEVENTH
Whither went the lovely hoyden?
Disappeared in blessed wife,
Servant to a wooden cradle,
Living in a baby’s life.
_Emerson_
AUGUST EIGHTH
And yet methinks she looks so calm and good,
God must be with her in her solitude.
_Hartley Coleridge_
AUGUST NINTH
Childish unconsciousness is rest in God.
_Froebel_
AUGUST TENTH
The seasons of the year did swiftly whirl,
They measured time by one small life alone.
_Jean Ingelow_
AUGUST ELEVENTH
Oh, my own baby on my knee,
My leaping, dimpled treasure.
_Mrs. Browning_
AUGUST TWELFTH
Crazy with laughter and babble and earth’s new wine,
Now that the flower of a year and a half are thine,
O, little blossom, O mine and of mine!
Glorious poet who never has written a line!
_Tennyson_
AUGUST THIRTEENTH
On the lap
Of his mother, as he stands
Stretching out his tiny hands,
And his little lips the while,
Half-open, on his father smile.
_Catullus_
AUGUST FOURTEENTH
But the breezes of childish laughter,
And the light in a baby’s eye,
To the homeliest road bring a freshness
As free as the blue of the sky.
_Lucy Larcom_
AUGUST FIFTEENTH
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o’er.
_Campbell_
AUGUST SIXTEENTH
For all its warm, sweet body seems one smile
And mere men’s love too vile to meet it.
_Swinburne_
AUGUST SEVENTEENTH
A child of light, a radiant lass,
And gamesome as the morning air.
_Jean Ingelow_
AUGUST EIGHTEENTH
Shall we never cease to stamp human nature, even
in childhood, like coins.
_Froebel_
AUGUST NINETEENTH
My business is to suck, and sleep, and fling
The cradle clothes about me all day long,
Or, half asleep, hear my sweet mother sing,
And to be washt in water clean and warm,
And husht and kist and kept secure from harm.
_Shelley_
AUGUST TWENTIETH
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise:
Sleep pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
_Thomas Dekker_
AUGUST TWENTY-FIRST
As the moon on the lake’s face flashes,
So, happy may gleam, at whiles,
A dream through the dear deep lashes
Whereunder a child’s eye smiles.
_Swinburne_
AUGUST TWENTY-SECOND
Childhood was the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered.
_Longfellow_
AUGUST TWENTY-THIRD
To the royal soul of a baby
One fairy realm is the earth.
_Lucy Larcom_
AUGUST TWENTY-FOURTH
So rounds he to a separate mind
From which clear memory may begin.
_Tennyson_
AUGUST TWENTY-FIFTH
I dream of those two little ones at play,
Making the threshold vocal with their cries,
Half tears, half laughter, mingled sport and strife,
Like two flowers blown together by the wind.
_Victor Hugo_
AUGUST TWENTY-SIXTH
That woman’s toy,
A baby!
_Mrs. Browning_
AUGUST TWENTY-SEVENTH
Perpetual care and joy of our life, our despotic
flatterers, greedy for the very least pleasure, frankly
selfish, instinctively sure of their too legitimate
independence—children are our masters, no matter
how firm we may pretend to be with them.
_George Sand_
AUGUST TWENTY-EIGHTH
And now, the rosy children come to play,
And romp and struggle with the new-mown hay;
Their clear high voices sound from far away.
_Edmund Gosse_
AUGUST TWENTY-NINTH
For the house that was childless awhile, and the
light of it darkened, and the pulse of it dwindled,
Rings radiant again with a child’s bright feet,
with the light of his face is rekindled.
_Swinburne_
AUGUST THIRTIETH
My teachers are the children themselves, with
all their purity, their innocence, their
unconsciousness and their irresistible charms.
_Froebel_
AUGUST THIRTY-FIRST
Women-folks said she was like her father—men-folks
said she was like her mother—but the wisest
people always said she was like us both.
_From "The Finest Baby in the World"_
*SEPTEMBER*
SEPTEMBER FIRST
Preserve him from the bad teacher, for
the unfortunate and road-lost one will make
him as himself.
_Sa’di_
SEPTEMBER SECOND
All unkissed by innocent beauty,
All unloved by guileless heart,
All uncheered by sweetest duty,
Childless man how poor thou art!
_Tupper_
SEPTEMBER THIRD
We cannot measure the need
Of even the tiniest flower,
Nor check the flow of the golden sands
That run through a single hour.
But the morning dew must fall
And the sun and the summer rain
Must do their part, and perform it all
Over and over again.
_Josephine Pollard_
SEPTEMBER FOURTH
When you stood up in the house
With your little childish feet,
And, in touching life’s first shows,
First the touch of love did meet.
_Mrs. Browning_
SEPTEMBER FIFTH
Even as a child that after pining
For the sweet absent mother, hears
Her voice, and round her neck, entwining
Young arms, vents all its soul in tears.
_Schiller_
SEPTEMBER SIXTH
Who takes the children on his knee,
And winds their curls about his hand.
_Tennyson_
SEPTEMBER SEVENTH
He’s such a kicking, crowing, wakeful rogue,
He almost wears our lives out with his noise,
Just at day-dawning when we wish to sleep.
_Jean Ingelow_
SEPTEMBER EIGHTH
Happy little children, skies are bright above you,
Trees bend down to kiss you, breeze and blossom love you.
_Lucy Larcom_
SEPTEMBER NINTH
A baby’s eyes ere speech begins;
Ere lips learn words or sighs,
Bless all things bright enough to win
A baby’s eyes.
_Swinburne_
SEPTEMBER TENTH
Some day you’ll know
How closely to one’s heart a son can cling.
_Racine_
SEPTEMBER ELEVENTH
Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child,
Were ever in the sylvan wild,
And all the beauty of the place
Is in thy heart and on thy face.
_Bryant_
_Reprinted from Bryant’s Complete Poetical Works by permission of D.
Appleton & Co._
SEPTEMBER TWELFTH
It was a childish ignorance,
But now ’t is little joy
To know I’m farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.
_Hood_
SEPTEMBER THIRTEENTH
Sweet babe! True portrait of thy father’s face,
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelids on thy mother’s breast.
_Longfellow_
SEPTEMBER FOURTEENTH
That land of glorious mystery
Whither we all are wending,
A lonely sort of heaven will be,
If there no baby-family
Await my love and tending.
_Lucy Larcom_
SEPTEMBER FIFTEENTH
What note of song have we
Fit for the birds and thee
Fair nestling couched beneath the mother-dove?
_Swinburne_
SEPTEMBER SIXTEENTH
Thou closely clingest to thy mother’s arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!
Man’s breathing miniature.
_S. T. Coleridge_
SEPTEMBER SEVENTEENTH
A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near,
And ever restless feet of one, who now
Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year.
_Bryant_
_Reprinted from Bryant’s Complete Poetical Works by permission of D.
Appleton & Co._
SEPTEMBER EIGHTEENTH
Once was she wealthy, with small cares,
And small hands clinging to her knees.
_Lizette Woodworth Reese_
SEPTEMBER NINETEENTH
I, a woman, wife and mother,
What have I to do with art?
Are ye not my noblest pictures,
Portraits painted from my heart?
_Margaret J. Preston_
SEPTEMBER TWENTIETH
It was a little Child who swung
Wide back that city’s portals
Where hearts remain forever young;
And all things good and pure among,
Shall childhood be immortal.
_Lucy Larcom_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-FIRST
The mother, with sweet pious face,
Turns toward her little children from her seat,
Gives one a kiss, another an embrace,
Takes this upon her knees, that upon her feet:
And, while from actions, looks, complaints, pretences,
She learns their feelings and their various will,
To this a look, to that a word dispenses,
And, whether stern or smiling, loves them still.
_Filicaia_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-SECOND
A living book is mine—
In age three years: in it I read no lies,
In it to myriad truths I find the clue—
A tender little child; but I divine
Thoughts high as Dante’s in her clear blue eyes.
_Maurice Francis Egan_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-THIRD
That pure shrine
Of childhood, though my love be true
Is hidden from my dim confine.
_Author unknown_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-FOURTH
Their glance might cast out pain and sin,
Their speech make dumb the wise;
By mute glad Godhead felt within
A baby’s eyes.
_Swinburne_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-FIFTH
Lulla-lo! to the rise and fall of mother’s bosom
’t is sleep has bound you,
And oh, my child, what cosier nest for rosier rest
could love have found you?
Sleep, baby dear,
Sleep without fear:
Mother’s two arms are clasped around you.
_Alfred Percival Gates_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-SIXTH
And if no clustering swarm of bees
On thy sweet mouth distilled their golden dew,
’T was that such vulgar miracles
Heaven had not leisure to renew:
For all the blest fraternity of love
Solemnized there thy birth, and kept thy holiday above.
_John Dryden_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-SEVENTH
Sublimity always is simple
Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on the meaning.
_Longfellow_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-EIGHTH
Take thy joy and revel in it,
Living through each golden minute,
Trusting God who gave you this
Baby child to love and kiss.
_From "The Finest Baby in the World"_
SEPTEMBER TWENTY-NINTH
Still smile at even on the bedded child,
And close his eyelids with thy silver wand.
_Hood_
SEPTEMBER THIRTIETH
Of such is the kingdom of heaven,
No glory that ever was shed
From the crowning star of the seven
That crown the North world’s head,
No word that ever was spoken
Of human or godlike tongue
Gave ever such godlike token
Since human harps were strung.
_Swinburne_
*OCTOBER*
OCTOBER FIRST
Little lamb, asleep and still,
God protect thee from all ill;
Those who love thee ne’er can be
Free from pain in loving thee.
_From "The Finest Baby in the World"_
OCTOBER SECOND
Then, when Mamma goes by to bed,
She shall come in with tiptoe tread,
And see me lying warm and fast
And in the land of Nod at last.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
OCTOBER THIRD
How, with a mother’s ever anxious love,
Still to retain him near her heart she strove.
_Firdausi_
OCTOBER FOURTH
Windows of mansions in the skies
Must glow with infant faces,
Or somewhere else in Paradise,
The lovely laughter of their eyes
Lights up all heavenly places.
_Lucy Larcom_
OCTOBER FIFTH
That pitcher of mignonette
Is a garden in heaven set
To the little sick child in the basement.
_Henry Cuyler Bunner_
OCTOBER SIXTH
When at morn I first awake,
My mother’s face I see,
Smiling and all alight with love
And bending over me.
_Mary Stanhope_
OCTOBER SEVENTH
We need love’s tender lessons taught
As only weakness can;
God hath his small interpreters:
The child must teach the man.
_Whittier_
OCTOBER EIGHTH
Then, while thy babes around thee cling,
Shalt show us how divine a thing
A woman may be made.
_Wordsworth_
OCTOBER NINTH
Child of the wavy locks, and brow of light—
Then be thy conscience pure as thy face is bright
_Mrs. Browning_
OCTOBER TENTH
The thankful captive of maternal bonds.
_Wordsworth_
OCTOBER ELEVENTH
The mother should consider herself as the child’s
sun, a changeless and ever radiant world, whither
the small restless creature, quick at tears and
laughter, light, fickle, passionate, full of storms, may
come for fresh stores of light, warmth and electricity,
of calm and courage.
_Amiel_
OCTOBER TWELFTH
When grace is given us ever to behold
A child some sweet months old,
Love, laying across our lips his finger, saith,
Smiling with bated breath,
"Hush, for the holiest thing that lives is here,
And Heaven’s own heart how near!"
_Swinburne_
OCTOBER THIRTEENTH
Sweet as the early song of birds,
I heard those first delightful words,
"Thou hast a child."
_Hood_
OCTOBER FOURTEENTH
And a pretty boy was their best hope, next to the
God in heaven.
_Wordsworth_
OCTOBER FIFTEENTH
The child soul is an ever bubbling fountain in the
world of humanity.
_Froebel_
OCTOBER SIXTEENTH
Beware that he weepest, for the great throne of
God keeps trembling when the orphan weeps.
_Sa’di_
OCTOBER SEVENTEENTH
One thing yet there is, that none
Hearing, ere its chime be done,
Knows not well the sweetest one
Heard of man beneath the sun,
Hoped in heaven hereafter;
Soft and strong and loud and light,
Very sound of very light,
Heard from morning’s rosiest height
When the soul of all delight
Fills a child’s clear laughter.
_Swinburne_
OCTOBER EIGHTEENTH
Ere thought lift up thy flower-soft lids to see
What life and love on earth
Bring thee for gifts at birth,
But none so good as thine, who hast given us thee.
_Swinburne_
OCTOBER NINETEENTH
Childhood had its litanies
In every age and clime;
The earliest cradles of the race
Were rocked to Poet’s rhyme.
_Whittier_
OCTOBER TWENTIETH
Sweet little maid, with winsome eyes
That laugh all day through the tangled hair;
Gazing with baby looks so wise
Over the arms of the oaken chair.
_Harry Thurston Peck_
OCTOBER TWENTY-FIRST
Everything in immortal nature is a miracle to the
little child.
_Anatole France_
OCTOBER TWENTY-SECOND
Even so this happy creature of herself
Is all-sufficient, solitude to her
Is blithe society, who fills the air
With gladness and involuntary songs.
_Wordsworth_
OCTOBER TWENTY-THIRD
The plays of childhood are the heart-leaves of
the whole future life.
_Froebel_
OCTOBER TWENTY-FOURTH
When e’er you are happy and cannot tell why,
The Friend of the children is sure to be by.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
OCTOBER TWENTY-FIFTH
So brief and unsure, but sweeter
Than ever a noon-dawn smiled,
Moves, measured of no tune’s meter,
The song in the soul of a child.
_Swinburne_
OCTOBER TWENTY-SIXTH
Childhood and its terrors rather than its raptures,
take wings and radiance in dreams and sport like
fireflies in the little night of the soul. Do not crush
these flickering sparks!
_Richter_
OCTOBER TWENTY-SEVENTH
A child should always say what’s true
And speak when he is spoken to,
And behave mannerly at table:
At least as far as he is able.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
OCTOBER TWENTY-EIGHTH
Bishop Thorold says that whenever a parent
begins to feel virtuous in sacrificing his sleep for his
child, he ceases to love his child. All I can say is
that the Bishop must have kept a night-nurse.
_From "The Finest Baby in the World"_
OCTOBER TWENTY-NINTH
He it was who bathed the little ones, who "buttoned
up the backs" and tied careful "ribbin bows"
here and there for the whole six; he who drilled them
in "mannerly behavior" in court.
Indeed he had always performed most of these
personal services, which were, so he generously
distinguished them, "acts of love and not labor."
_Ruth McEnery Stuart_
OCTOBER THIRTIETH
O Wonderland of wayward Childhood! what
An easy, breezy realm of summer calm
And dreamy gleam and gloom and bloom and balm
Thou art!—The Lotus-land the poet sung,
It is the Child-World while the heart beats young.
_James Whitcomb Riley_
_From "A Child World." Copyright, 1897. Used by special permission of
the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._
OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRST
People who write about children should always
tell the truth. For to translate even a child’s
simplest day into words is to narrate one of the Seven
Wonders of the world.
_From "The Finest Baby in the World"_
*NOVEMBER*
NOVEMBER FIRST
Self-government with tenderness, here
you have the condition of all authority over
children.
_Amiel_
NOVEMBER SECOND
Heigh ho! Daisies and buttercups!
Mother shall weave them a daisy chain;
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge sparrow,
That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain:
Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow";
Sing once and sing it again.
_Jean Ingelow_
NOVEMBER THIRD
Fair little children, morning-bright,
With faces grave, yet soft to sight,
Expressive of restrained delight.
_Mrs. Browning_
NOVEMBER FOURTH
Our youth! Our childhood! That spring of springs!
’T is surely one of the blessedest things
That nature ever intended.
_Hood_
NOVEMBER FIFTH
Ah how good a school is the school of home!
_Anatole France_
NOVEMBER SIXTH
Loving she is and tractable, though wild;
And innocence hath privilege in her
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes.
_Wordsworth_
NOVEMBER SEVENTH
Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear?
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still my child and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still my dear: sweet baby, sleep.
_George Wither_
NOVEMBER EIGHTH
Through the soft, opened lips the air
Scarcely moves the coverlet.
One little wandering arm is thrown
At random on the counterpane;
And often the fingers close in haste,
As if their baby owner chased
The butterflies again.
_Matthew Arnold_
NOVEMBER NINTH
I saw her in childhood,
A bright gentle thing,
Like the dawn of the morn
Or the dews of the spring:
The daisies and harebells
Her playmates all day;
Herself as light-hearted
And artless as they.
_B. F. Lyte_
NOVEMBER TENTH
Thy small steps faltering round our hearth,
Thine een out-peering in their mirth,
Blue een that, like thine heart, seemed given
To be, forever, full of heaven.
_Mrs. Browning_
NOVEMBER ELEVENTH
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast.
_Wordsworth_
NOVEMBER TWELFTH
I’d rock my own sweet childie to rest in a cradle
of gold on a bough of the willow,
To the cho-heen-ho of the wind of the west and
the lulla-lo of the soft sea billow.
Sleep, baby dear,
Sleep without fear:
Mother is here beside your pillow.
_Alfred Percival Gates_
NOVEMBER THIRTEENTH
You too, my Mother, read my rhymes,
For love of unforgotten times;
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
NOVEMBER FOURTEENTH
And still to childhood’s sweet appeal
The heart of genius turns,
And more than all the sages teach,
From lisping voices learns.
_Whittier_
NOVEMBER FIFTEENTH
The wondrous child,
Whose silver warble wild
Out-valued every pulsing sound
Within the air’s cerulean round.
_Emerson_
NOVEMBER SIXTEENTH
He saw his Mother’s face, accepting it
In change for heaven itself, with such a smile
As might have well been learnt there.
_Mrs. Browning_
NOVEMBER SEVENTEENTH
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison house begin to close
Upon the growing boy.
_Wordsworth_
NOVEMBER EIGHTEENTH
When children are happy and lonely and good,
The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
NOVEMBER NINETEENTH
And then, he sometimes interwove
Fond thoughts about a father’s love,
"For there," said he, "are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,
That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun."
_Wordsworth_
NOVEMBER TWENTIETH
May we presume to say that at thy birth,
New joy was sprung in Heaven, as well as here on earth.
_Dryden_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-FIRST
Dear five-years-old befriends my passion,
And I may write till she can spell.
_Matthew Prior_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-SECOND
’T is thus, though wooed by flattering friends,
And fed with fame (if fame it be),
This heart, my own dear mother, bends
With love’s true instinct, back to thee.
_Swinburne_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-THIRD
To prayer, my child! And oh, be thy first prayer
For her, who many nights with anxious care,
Rocked thy first cradle: who took thy infant soul
From heaven and gave it to the world: then rife
With love, still drank the gall of life
And left for thy young lips the honeyed bowl.
_Victor Hugo_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-FOURTH
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air, with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The Gardener of the World, he goes.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-FIFTH
Children, aye, forsooth,
They bring their own love with them when they come.
_Jean Ingelow_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-SIXTH
We came upon
A wildfowl sitting on her nest, so still
I reached my hand and touched her: she did not stir;
The snow had frozen round her, and she sat,
Stone-dead, upon a heap of ice-cold eggs,
Look, how this love, this mother, runs through all
The world God made—even the beast, the bird!
_Tennyson_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-SEVENTH
In your hearts are the birds and sunshine,
In your thoughts, the brooklet’s flow.
_Longfellow_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-EIGHTH
No flower bells that expand and shrink
Gleam half so heavenly sweet,
As shine, on life’s untrodden brink,
A baby’s feet.
_Swinburne_
NOVEMBER TWENTY-NINTH
St. Augustine said finely: "A marriage without
children is the world without the sun."
_Luther_
NOVEMBER THIRTIETH
The child, the seed, the grain of corn,
The acorn on the hill,
Each for some separate end is born
In season fit, and still
Each must in strength arise to work the Almighty will.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
*DECEMBER*
DECEMBER FIRST
As children play, without to-morrow,
Without Yesterday.
_Agnes Robinson_
DECEMBER SECOND
Shall those smiles be called
Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore
This untried world?
_Wordsworth_
DECEMBER THIRD
When children are playing alone on the green,
In comes the playmate that never was seen.
_Robert Louis Stevenson_
DECEMBER FOURTH
Respect childhood and do not hastily judge of it,
either for good or evil.
_Rosseau_
DECEMBER FIFTH
What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger,
If she sleeps a little longer
Baby too, shall fly away.
_Tennyson_
DECEMBER SIXTH
"Mother," asked a child, "since nothing is ever
lost, where do all our thoughts go?"
"To God," answered the mother, "who remembers
them forever."
"Forever!" said the child. He bent his head and,
drawing closer to his mother, murmured, "I am
frightened!"
Which of us has not felt the same?
_Selected_
DECEMBER SEVENTH
Happy little children, seek your shady places,
Lark songs in their bosoms, sunshine in their faces.
_Lucy Larcom_
DECEMBER EIGHTH
The mother, with anticipated glee,
Smiles o’er the child, that, standing by her chair,
And flattening its round cheek upon her knee,
Looks up and doth its rosy lips prepare
To mock the coming sounds: at the sweet sight
She hears her own voice with new delight.
_S. T. Coleridge_
DECEMBER NINTH
A babe, in lineament and limb
Perfect, and prophet of the perfect man.
_Tennyson_
DECEMBER TENTH
In the children lies the seed-corn of the future.
_Froebel_
DECEMBER ELEVENTH
When the bedtime shadows fall,
I’m always sure of this,
Just as I’m drifting off to dreams,
I feel my Mother’s kiss.
_Mary Stanhope_
DECEMBER TWELFTH
_Grandma’s Prayer_
I pray that, risen from the dead,
I may in glory stand—
A crown, perhaps, upon my head
But a needle in my hand.
I’ve never learned to sing or play,
So let no harp be mine;
From birth unto my dying day,
Plain sewing’s been my line.
Therefore, accustomed to the end
To plying useful stitches,
I’ll be content if asked to mend
The little Angels’ breeches.
_Eugene Field_
DECEMBER THIRTEENTH
The studying child has all the needs of a creating
artist. He must breathe pure air; his body must be
at ease; he must have things to look at and be able
to change his thoughts at will by enjoying form and
color.
_George Sand_
DECEMBER FOURTEENTH
At one dear knee we proffered vows,
One lesson from one book we learned,
Ere childhood’s flaxen ringlets turned
To black and brown on kindred brows.
_Tennyson_
DECEMBER FIFTEENTH
Art thou not a sunbeam,
Child, whose life is glad,
With an inner radiance
Sunshine never had?
_Lucy Larcom_
DECEMBER SIXTEENTH
No rosebuds yet, by dawn impearled
Match, even in loveliest lands,
The sweetest flowers in all the world;
A baby’s hands.
_Swinburne_
DECEMBER SEVENTEENTH
Sweet was the whole year with the stir
Of young feet on the stair.
_Lizette Woodworth Reese_
DECEMBER EIGHTEENTH
The religion of a child depends on what its father
and mother are, and not on what they say.
_Amiel_
DECEMBER NINETEENTH
So was unfolded here, the
Christian lore of salvation,
Line by line, from the soul of childhood.
_Longfellow_
DECEMBER TWENTIETH
It is good to be children sometimes, and never
better than at Christmas, when its mighty founder
was himself a child.
_Charles Dickens_
DECEMBER TWENTY-FIRST
We greet the joy that Christmas brings;
But, where the heart of childhood sings,
There all the months are full of cheer
And Christmas-tide lasts all the year.
_Francis McKinnon Morton_
DECEMBER TWENTY-SECOND
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well
not believe in Fairies! You might get your Papa
to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on
Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did
not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that
prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus but that is no sign
that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things
in the world are those that neither children nor men
can see. Nobody can conceive nor imagine all the
wonders that are unseen and unseeable in the world.
_From New York "Sun" of Sept. 21, 1897_
DECEMBER TWENTY-THIRD
You once told me that in the school of God the
wisest man never gets beyond the Infant Class; I
thought it a strange idea at first but now I know it is
true. For, in the matter of the Eternities, a man’s
only hope of learning is to remain in the Infant Class.
Children invariably have the ear of God first. They
have been in His company last.
_From "The Finest Baby in the World"_
DECEMBER TWENTY-FOURTH
To you this night is born a child
Of Mary, chosen mother mild,
This little child of lowly birth
Shall be the joy of all your earth.
_Luther_
DECEMBER TWENTY-FIFTH
For unto you is born this day, a Saviour, which is
Christ the Lord. And suddenly there was with the
angel a multitude of the heavenly hosts praising
God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and
on earth peace, good-will toward men."
_Luke ii. 11, 13, 14_
DECEMBER TWENTY-SIXTH
A child is the greatest living revealer of the Eternal
in this world. You are nearer God when you have
your child in your arms than at any other time.
_From "The Finest Baby in the World"_
DECEMBER TWENTY-SEVENTH
I never realized God’s birth before,
How he grew likest God in being born,
This time I felt like Mary, had my babe
Lying a little on my breast like hers.
_Robert Browning_
DECEMBER TWENTY-EIGHTH
What do I dream of, far from the low roof
Where now ye are children? I dream of you,
Of your young heads that are the hope and crown
Of my full summer, ripening to its fall,
Branches whose shadow grows along my wall,
Sweet souls scarce open to the breath of day,
Still dazzled with the brightness of your dawn.
_Victor Hugo_
DECEMBER TWENTY-NINTH
Verily I say unto you, "Whosoever shall not
receive the Kingdom of Heaven as a little child
shall in no wise enter therein."
_Luke xviii. 17_
DECEMBER THIRTIETH
Heroic Mother!
What can breath add to that sacred name?
_Author unknown_
DECEMBER THIRTY-FIRST
The mother has eternal youth.
_Edith M. Thomas_
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A Mother's Year Book" ***
Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.