Volume I Part 4 (1/2)

We still maun luve the Giver mair, An' see Him in the given; An' sae she'll lead us up to Him, Our babie straight frae Heaven.

Jeremiah Eames Rankin [1828-1904]

LITTLE HANDS

Soft little hands that stray and clutch, Like fern fronds curl and uncurl bold, While baby faces lie in such Close sleep as flowers at night that fold, What is it you would, clasp and hold, Wandering outstretched with wilful touch?

O fingers small of sh.e.l.l-tipped rose, How should you know you hold so much?

Two full hearts beating you inclose, Hopes, fears, prayers, longings, joys and woes,-- All yours to hold, O little hands!

More, more than wisdom understands And love, love only knows.

Laurence Binyon [1869-

BARTHOLOMEW

Bartholomew is very sweet, From sandy hair to rosy feet.

Bartholomew is six months old, And dearer far than pearls or gold.

Bartholomew has deep blue eyes, Round pieces dropped from out the skies.

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, The wild wind blew him to my swinging door, With flakes of tawny foam from off the sh.o.r.e, And s.h.i.+vering spindrift whirled across the rocks.

Flung down the sky, the wheeling swallow-flocks Cried him a greeting, and the lordly woods, Waving lean arms of welcome one by one, Cast down their russet cloaks and golden hoods, And bid their dancing leaflets trip and run Before the tender feet of this my son.

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, That strips the hills and sweeps the cowering plains.

October, shot with flas.h.i.+ng rays and rains, Inhabits all his pulses; he shall know The stress and splendor of the roaring gales, The creaking boughs shall croon him fairy tales, And the sea's kisses set his blood aglow, While in his ears the eternal bugles blow.

May Byron [1861-

”ON PARENT KNEES”

On parent knees, a naked new-born child, Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled: So live, that, sinking to thy life's last sleep, Calm thou may'st smile, while all around thee weep.

William Jones [1746-1794]

”PHILIP, MY KING”

”Who bears upon his baby brow the round and top of sovereignty.”

Look at me with thy large brown eyes, Philip, my king!