O the day when thou goest a-wooing, When those beautiful lips are suing, For we that love, ah! we love so blindly, Up from thy sweet mouth,-up to thy brow, The spirit that there lies sleeping now May rise like a giant and make men bow As to one heaven-chosen among his peers. My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer, Let me behold thee in future years!— Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, -A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day, Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way Rebels within thee, and foes without, But march on, Will snatch at thy crown. glorious, As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious, "Philip, the king!" Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887] THE KING OF THE CRADLE DRAW back the cradle curtains, Kate, While watch and ward you're keeping, Let's see the monarch in his state, And view him while he's sleeping.. He smiles and clasps his tiny hand, With sunbeams o'er him gleaming,- 1 A world of baby fairyland He visits while he's dreaming. The King of the Cradle! Monarch of pearly powder-puff,....! Asleep in nest so cosy, Shielded from breath of breezes rough By curtains warm and rosy: He slumbers soundly in his cell, As weak as one decrepid, Though King of Coral, Lord of Bell, Ah, lucky tyrant! Happy lot! b T Fair watchers without number, Will yonder dainty dimpled hand- Size, nothing and a quarter E'er grasp a saber, lead a band E'er in the House of Commons rise, And try to catch the Speaker's? Will that smooth brow o'er Hansard frown,/. Confused by lore statistic? Or will those lips e'er stir the town From pulpit ritualistic? یر اردو Will e'er that tiny Sybarite.. Become an author noted? That little brain the world's delight, Its works by all men quoted?. «<! Though rosy, dimpled, plump, and round 23$ A little shoe, a little glove- Then does one chance, in fancy, hear, To consecrate it with a tear, And deck it with a flower. Who can predict the future, Kate- Who knows the solemn laws of fate, That govern all creation? Who knows what lot awaits your boy→ Of happiness or sorrow? Sufficient for to-day is joy, Leave tears, Sweet, for to-morrow! Joseph Ashby-Sterry [1838-1917] THE FIRSTBORN So fair, so dear, so warm upon my bosom, Sleep on, my little bird, my lamb, my blossom; What is it God hath given me to cherish, Dear Lord, 'tis wonderful beyond all wonder, No Baby in the House Flesh of my flesh, and yet so subtly linking There life began, and here it links with heaven, And nearer to God's Throne. Seen, held in arms and clasped around so tightly,— Mine, Lord, all mine Thy gift and loving token. Mine by the chain of love with links unbroken, John Arthur Goodchild [1851 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE No baby in the house, I know, No finger-marks are on the panes, Made up of baby-clothes; No grimy fingers to be washed; No stories to be told; 25 No tender kisses to be given; No nicknames, "Dove" and "Mouse"; No merry frolics after tea, No baby in the house! Clara Dolliver (18 OUR WEE WHITE ROSE From "The Mother's Idol Broken " ALL in our marriage garden Sucked the green warmth of the sod; Its little life unfurled; And crown of all things was our wee From out a balmy bosom Our bud of beauty grew; With mystical faint fragrance Upon the petals of our wee White Rose of all the world. But evermore the halo Of angel-light increased, Like the mystery of moonlight That folds some fairy feast. |