GOD KNEW

God knew how much I hungered

For roses of the south

A-wash with morning's dewy breath

He gave me baby's mouth.

God knew I dreamed of meadows

Where children of the skies

Reflect their blueness in their bloom-

He gave me baby's eyes.

God knew I missed the warmness

Of nestling and its charms

To melt my waiting bosom's ice

He gave me baby's arms.

God knew my life was empty
And fruitless naught to prove,

Was blindly groping for its own

He gave me baby's love.

-MAUDE DEVERSE NEWTON

IT NEVER COMES AGAIN

There are gains for all our losses,
There are balms for all our pain,
But when youth, the dream, departs,
It takes something from our hearts,
And it never comes again.

We are stronger, and are better,

Under manhood's sterner reign;
Still we feel that something sweet
Followed youth, with flying feet,
And will never come again.
Something beautiful is vanished,
And we sigh for it in vain;
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth, and in the air,

But it never comes again.

-RICHARD HENRY STODDARD

From "The Poetical Writings of

Richard Henry Stoddard

copyrighted 1880 by Charles Scribners' Sons

SWEET AND LOW

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,

Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon:

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

-TENNYSON

"THE MAN LAND."

Little boy, little boy, would you go so soon,
To the land where the grown man lives?
Would you
barter your toys and your fairy things
For the things that the grown man gives?
Would you leave the haven whose doors are set
With the jewels of Love's alloy

For the land of emptiness and regret?

Would you go, little boy, little boy?

It's a land far off, little boy, little boy,
And the way it is dark and steep;

And once you have passed through its doors, little boy
You mayn't even come back to sleep.
There is no tucking in, no good-night kiss,

No mornings of childhood joy.

It's passion and pain you give for this,
Think well, little boy, little boy!

Little boy, little boy, can't you see the ghosts
That live in the land off there;

The "broken hearts," "fair hopes," all dead;
"Lost faith" and "grim despair?"

There's a train for that land in the after years,
When old Time rushes in to destroy,

The wall that stands 'tween the joy and the tears—
So don't go, little boy, little boy!

Published by courtesy of

the Metropolitan Magazine and

M. Witmark's Sons.

-MAYNARD WAITE

TO A BABY'S PICTURE

I pushed through the crowded aisle
Of a down-town picture shop,
Looking and thinking the while,
Not knowing just where I should stop.

Led by an uncertain fancy
Some treasure attractive to claim,
When, by a chance and a glance a
Baby peeped out from a frame.

In an unuttered eloquence speaking,
By a sweetness compelling and mild,
I knew that the thing I was seeking
Was this face of an innocent child.

Did truth on earth ever hide,
Hath innocence anywhere smiled,
Did purity anywhere bide,

They're found in the eyes of a child.
-HARRY ALEXANDER MOORE