All the babies I have carried

Ever since sweet Eve was married,

And I love them all so well,

That I never yet could tell

Which I think the dearest one,

Whether daughter, whether son,

All are precious from their birth

To the fond old mother Earth.

O, the pansies, pinks and roses,

Buttercups and fair, wild posies,

On the lawns and in the wild,

I am growing for each child;

Making streamlets dance with glee

For the baby eyes to see.

Guarding nests of birdies near

That bring songs to baby’s ear.

Bread from golden field is coming;

These in richness soon will come;

Apple, berry, grape and plum.

But may mother not forget

Milk is baby’s glory yet;

And for years it still must be,

If you would a jewel see.

How I watch your priceless slumbers.

Holding careful, countless numbers;

Constant turning round and round,

That the sleeping sleep more sound

In the shade; and those that wake

See the rosy morning break.

List’ning to hosannas sweet,

That all babyhood will greet.

Whether in the wilds near Eden,

Or in Father Noah’s garden,

Kings and peasants, rich and poor,

Born to ignorance or lore,

I have done the best I could

With the flocks of babyhood.

Every baby is a gem;

My old heart goes out to them!