Little Feet i 17 II | A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled, Ope if you touch, though close upcurled,- Then, even as warriors grip their brands They close, clenched hard like tightening bands. No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled III A baby's eyes, ere speech begin, Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies, And sleep flows out and in, Sees perfect in them Paradise! Their glance might cast out pain and sin, Their speech make dumb the wise,, By mute glad godhead felt within A baby's eyes. ",》 Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] LITTLE FEET Two little feet, so small that both may nestle In one caressing hand, Two tender feet upon the untried border Dimpled, and soft, and pink as peach-tree blossoms, How can they walk among the briery tangles, ¡ These rose-white feet, along the doubtful future, Alas! since Woman has the heavier burden, 'Love, for a while, will make the path before them Will cull away the brambles, letting only But when the mother's watchful eyes are shrouded And these dear feet are left without her guiding, יד How will they be allured, betrayed, deluded, Poor little untaught feet! Into what dreary mazes will they wander, 9,0J Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness Or find the upland slopes of Peace and Beauty, Will they go toiling up Ambition's summit, Or in some nameless vale, securely sheltered, 'Some feet there be which walk Life's track unwounded, Which find but pleasant ways: Some hearts there be to which this life is only/T 5A b The Babie 0919 But these are few. Far more there are who wander Without a hope or friend,— Who find their journey full of pains and losses, How shall it be with her, the tender stranger, * ༄ Before whose unstained feet the world's rude highway Stretches so fair and wide? Ah! who may read the future? For our darling And pray that He who feeds the crying ravens Elizabeth Akers (1832-1911] THE BABIE NAE shoon to hide her tiny taes, Nae stockin' on her feet; Or early blossoms sweet. Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink, Her puckered lips, an' baumy mou', Her een sae like her mither's een, She is the buddin' of our luve,' A giftie God gied us: We maun na luve the gift owre weel, We still maun luve the Giver mair, An' sae she'll lead us up to Him, J Our babie straight frae Heaven. ' vond zo! wwe got Jeremiah Eames Rankin [1828-1904] J LITTLE HANDS SOFT little hands that stray and clutch, Close sleep as flowers at night that fold, Hopes, fears, prayers, longings, joys and woes,† More, more than wisdom understands And love, love only knows. Laurence Binyon [1869 BARTHOLOMEW BARTHOLOMEW is very sweet, Bartholomew is six months old, And dearer far than pearls or gold. Bartholomew has deep blue eyes, Bartholomew is hugged and kissed: He loves a flower in either fist. Bartholomew's my saucy son: No mother has a sweeter one! Norman Gale [1862 THE STORM-CHILD My child came to me with the equinox, Philip, My King" Cried him a greeting, and the lordly woods, Therefore the sea's swift fire is in his veins, And in his heart the glory of the sea; Therefore the storm-wind shall his comrade be, Inhabits all his pulses; he shall know The stress and splendor of the roaring gales, While in his ears the eternal bugles blow. May Byron [1861 "ON PARENT KNEES" ON parent knees, a naked new-born child, William Jones (1746-1794] 21 "PHILIP, MY KING” "Who bears upon his baby brow the round and top of sovereignty." Look at me with thy large brown eyes, Round whom the enshadowing purple lies Of babyhood's royal dignities. Lay on my neck thy tiny hand With love's invisible scepter laden; I am thine Esther to command Till thou shalt find a queen-handmaiden, |