Part 6 (1/2)
Over the cradle the mother hung, Softly crooning a slumber song: And these were the simple words she sung All the evening long.
”Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee Where shall the baby's dimple be?
Where shall the angel's finger rest When he comes down to the baby's nest?
Where shall the angel's touch remain When he awakens my babe again?”
Still as she bent and sang so low, A murmur into her music broke: And she paused to hear, for she could but know The baby's angel spoke.
”Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee, Where shall the baby's dimple be?
Where shall my finger fall and rest When I come down to the baby's nest?
Where shall my finger touch remain When I awaken your babe again?”
Silent the mother sat and dwelt Long in the sweet delay of choice, And then by her baby's side she knelt, And sang with a pleasant voice:
”Not on the limb, O angel dear!
For the charm with its youth will disappear; Not on the cheek shall the dimple be, For the harboring smile will fade and flee; But touch thou the chin with an impress deep, And my baby the angel's seal shall keep.”
--_J. G. Holland._
[3] From ”The Complete Poetical Writings of J. G. Holland,”
copyright 1879-1881 by Charles Scribner's Sons.
THIRD GRADE
DISCONTENT.
Down in a field one day in June, the flowers all bloomed together, Save one who tried to hide herself, and drooped that pleasant weather.
A robin who had flown too high, and felt a little lazy, Was resting near this b.u.t.tercup who wished she was a daisy.
For daisies grow so slim and tall! She always had a pa.s.sion For wearing frills about her neck in just the daisies' fas.h.i.+on.
And b.u.t.tercups must always be the same old tiresome color; While daisies dress in gold and white, although their gold is duller.
”Dear Robin,” said the sad young flower, ”Perhaps you'd not mind trying To find a nice white frill for me, some day when you are flying.”
”You silly thing!” the Robin said, ”I think you must be crazy; I'd rather be my honest self, than any made-up daisy.
”You're nicer in your own bright gown; the little children love you.
Be the best b.u.t.tercup you can, and think no flower above you.
Though swallows leave _me_ out of sight, we'd better keep our places: Perhaps the world would all go wrong with one too many daisies.
Look bravely up into the sky and be content with knowing That G.o.d wished for a b.u.t.tercup, just here where you are growing.”
--_Sarah Orne Jewett._
OUR FLAG.