_Love and the Child_

Toys, and treats, and pleasures pa.s.s Like a shadow in a gla.s.s, Like the smoke that mounts on high, Like a noonday's b.u.t.terfly.

Quick they come and quick they end, Like the money that I spend; Some to-day, to-morrow more, Short, like those that went before.

Mother, fold me to your knees!

How much should I care for these-- Little joys that come and go!

If you did not love me so?

And when things are sad or wrong, Then I know that love is strong; When I ache, or when I weep, Then I know that love is deep.

Father, now my prayer is said, Lay your hand upon my head!

Pleasures pa.s.s from day to day, But I know that love will stay.

While I sleep it will be near; I shall wake and find it here; I shall feel it in the air When I say my morning prayer.

Maker of this little heart!

Lord of love I know thou art!

Little heart! though thou forget, Still the love is round thee set.

William Brighty Rands.

_Polly_

Brown eyes, straight nose; Dirt pies, rumpled clothes.

Torn books, spoilt toys: Arch looks, unlike a boy's;

Little rages, obvious arts; (Three her age is), cakes, tarts;

Falling down off chairs; Breaking crown down stairs;

Catching flies on the pane; Deep sighs--cause not plain;

Bribing you with kisses For a few farthing blisses.

Wide-a-wake; as you hear, "Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!"

New shoes, new frock; Vague views of what's o'clock

When it's time to go to bed, And scorn sublime for what is said.

Folded hands, saying prayers, Understands not nor cares--

Thinks it odd, smiles away; Yet may G.o.d hear her pray!

Bed gown white, kiss Dolly; Good night!--that's Polly,

Fast asleep, as you see, Heaven keep my girl for me!

William Brighty Rands.

_A Chill_

What can lambkins do All the keen night through?

Nestle by their woolly mother The careful ewe.

What can nestlings do In the nightly dew?

Sleep beneath their mother's wing Till day breaks anew.

If in field or tree There might only be Such a warm soft sleeping-place Found for me!

Christina G. Rossetti.

_A Child's Laughter_

All the bells of heaven may ring, All the birds of heaven may sing, All the wells on earth may spring, All the winds on earth may bring All sweet sounds together; Sweeter far than all things heard, Hand of harper, tone of bird, Sound of woods at sundawn stirred, Welling water's winsome word, Wind in warm, wan weather.

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.

Golden bells of welcome rolled Never forth such note, nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold, As the radiant month of gold Here that rings forth heaven.

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.

Algernon C. Swinburne.

_The World's Music_

The world's a very happy place, Where every child should dance and sing, And always have a smiling face, And never sulk for anything.