The Home Book of Verse Volume I Part 56

The satyrs gasped and looked and smiled, And wagged their heads from side to side, Except their s.h.a.ggy little child, Who cried and cried.

Herbert S. Gorman [1893-

THE CHILDREN

THE CHILDREN

When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And the school for the day is dismissed, The little ones gather around me, To bid me good night and be kissed; Oh, the little white arms that encircle My neck in their tender embrace!

Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding suns.h.i.+ne of love on my face!

And when they are gone, I sit dreaming Of my childhood too lovely to last,-- Of joy that my heart will remember, While it wakes to the pulse of the past, Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin, When the glory of G.o.d was about me, And the glory of gladness within.

All my heart grows as weak as a woman's, And the fountain of feeling will flow, When I think of the paths steep and stony, Where the feet of the dear ones must go,-- Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, Of the tempest of fate blowing wild;-- Oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child!

They are idols of hearts and of households; They are angels of G.o.d in disguise; His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, His glory still s.h.i.+nes in their eyes; Those truants from home and from heaven,-- They have made me more manly and mild; And I know now how Jesus could liken The kingdom of G.o.d to a child.

I ask not a life for the dear ones, All radiant, as others have done, But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun; I would pray G.o.d to guard them from evil, But my prayer would bound back to myself;-- Ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner must pray for himself.

The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, They have taught me the goodness of G.o.d: My heart is the dungeon of darkness Where I shut them for breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction; My love is the law of the school.

I shall leave the old house in the autumn, To traverse its threshold no more; Ah, how I shall sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door!

I shall miss the "good nights" and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee, The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning for me.

I shall miss them at morn and at even, Their song in the school and the street; I shall miss the low hum of their voices, And the tread of their delicate feet.

When the lessons of life are all ended, And death says: "The school is dismissed!"

May the little ones gather around me, To bid me good night and be kissed!

Charles Monroe d.i.c.kinson [1842-1924]

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR

Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence: Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall!

By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]

LAUS INFANTIUM

In praise of little children I will say G.o.d first made man, then found a better way For woman, but his third way was the best.

Of all created things, the loveliest And most divine are children. Nothing here Can be to us more gracious or more dear.

And though, when G.o.d saw all his works were good, There was no rosy flower of babyhood, 'Twas said of children in a later day That none could enter Heaven save such as they.

The earth, which feels the flowering of a thorn, Was glad, O little child, when you were born; The earth, which thrills when skylarks scale the blue, Soared up itself to G.o.d's own Heaven in you; And Heaven, which loves to lean down and to gla.s.s Its beauty in each dewdrop on the gra.s.s,-- Heaven laughed to find your face so pure and fair, And left, O little child, its reflex there.

William Canton [1845-

THE DESIRE

Give me no mansions ivory white Nor palaces of pearl and gold; Give me a child for all delight, Just four years old.

Give me no wings of rosy s.h.i.+ne Nor snowy raiment, fold on fold, Give me a little boy all mine, Just four years old.

Give me no gold and starry crown Nor harps, nor palm branches unrolled; Give me a nestling head of brown, Just four years old.