Volume I Part 3 (1/2)
WEIGHING THE BABY
”How many pounds does the baby weigh-- Baby who came but a month ago?
How many pounds from the crowning curl To the rosy point of the restless toe?”
Grandfather ties the 'kerchief knot, Tenderly guides the swinging weight, And carefully over his gla.s.ses peers To read the record, ”only eight.”
Softly the echo goes around: The father laughs at the tiny girl; The fair young mother sings the words, While grandmother smooths the golden curl.
And stooping above the precious thing, Nestles a kiss within a prayer, Murmuring softly ”Little one, Grandfather did not weigh you fair.”
n.o.body weighed the baby's smile, Or the love that came with the helpless one; n.o.body weighed the threads of care, From which a woman's life is spun.
No index tells the mighty worth Of a little baby's quiet breath-- A soft, unceasing metronome, Patient and faithful until death.
n.o.body weighed the baby's soul, For here on earth no weights there be That could avail; G.o.d only knows Its value in eternity.
Only eight pounds to hold a soul That seeks no angel's silver wing, But shrines it in this human guise, Within so frail and small a thing!
Oh, mother! laugh your merry note, Be gay and glad, but don't forget From baby's eyes looks out a soul That claims a home in Eden yet.
Ethel Lynn Beers [1827-1879]
ETUDE REALISTE I
A baby's feet, like seash.e.l.ls 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 heat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet.
No flower-bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet, As s.h.i.+ne on life's untrodden brink A baby's feet.
II
A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled, Where yet no leaf expands, Ope if you touch, though close upcurled,-- A baby's hands.
Then, even as warriors grip their brands When battle's bolt is hurled, They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.
No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled Match, even in loveliest lands, The sweetest flowers in all the world,-- A baby's hands.
III
A baby's eyes, ere speech begin, Ere lips learn words or sighs, Bless all things bright enough to win A baby's eyes.
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 G.o.dhead felt within A baby's eyes.