"To make a happy fireside clime That's the true pathos and sublime THE FAMILY. EAR Love, whatever fate The flying years unfold, There's none can dissipate The happiness we hold. Whatever cloud may rise, The very storms grow mild When bend the blissful skies O'er husband, wife, and child. The errant dreams that failed, 56 ONLY A BABY. To meet the days and years, To hide no lonely heart; Bayard Taylor. ONLY A BABY. NLY a Baby small, Dropped from the skies! Only two cherry lips, One chubby nose; Ten little toes. |