A MOTHER'S
YEAR-BOOK EDITED BY
FRANCIS McKINNON MORTON
AND
MARY McKINNON McSWAIN NEW YORK
THOMAS Y CROWELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1911,
BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY. PREFACE This little volume has been compiled for mothers and is lovingly offered as a tribute to the memory of the almost perfect mother whose love cradled my own childhood so sweetly as to make all motherhood forever more dear to me. It seems to be true that the years of a woman's life that sink deepest into her heart and are fraught with her keenest joy and pain are the years when her little children are clinging about her skirts. Then it is that she is truly "wealthy with small cares, and small hands clinging to her knees." But then, too, she is often too busy with the passing of the full days and the long nights, so often punctuated by the restless clinging of rosy fingers and all the dear demands of babyhood, to realize fully how blest are the days through which she is living. It is especially for the busy mother that I have gathered this little collection of beautiful thoughts about childhood and motherhood, from some of the world's best thinkers. I hope it may bring to some of them as much pleasure in the reading as it has to me in the preparation. The selections from the writings of Lucy Larcom, Holmes, Whittier, Longfellow, Emerson, Lowell, Celia Thaxter, and Edith Thomas are used by the courteous permission of the authorized publishers of these writers, the Houghton Mifflin Company. The selections from the writings of Robert Louis Stevenson are from "A Child's Garden of Verses." The selection from Sidney Lanier is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier." Both are published by Charles Scribner's Sons and the selections are used by permission of that firm. The little poem from Eugene Field is also used by special arrangement with Charles Scribner's Sons, the authorized publishers of the works of Eugene Field. The selections from the book called "The Finest Baby in the World" are used by the courtesy of its publishers, the Fleming H. Revell Company. The selection from Ruth McEnery Stuart is taken from "Napoleon Jackson," published by the Century Company, and is used with their permission. The selection from the writings of Lewis Carroll is taken from the "Adventures of Alice in Wonderland" and is used by permission of the publishers, the Macmillan Company. Acknowledgment is also made to the Bobbs-Merrill Company for the use of the selections from the writings of James Whitcomb Riley, and to D. Appleton & Co. for the selections from Bryant. Acknowledgment is due the courtesy of the New York Sun and the Denver News for the use of the selections credited to them. An effort has been made to find the name and the author of each selection used so that proper credit could be given with each. This has not been always possible and I have chosen not to leave out a beautiful selection on that account. George MacDonald says, "He who drops a beautiful thought into the heart of a friend gives as the angels do"; and Emerson says that "Next to the originator of a beautiful thought is the one who first quotes it." So I do not think that any one who has said anything beautiful about childhood would wish to be left out of a Mother's Year Book even if the credit for his work was not given quite correctly. FRANCIS MCKINNON MORTON. JANUARY JANUARY FIRST Where did you come from, Baby Dear? Out of the Everywhere into the here. . . . . . . . . But how did you come to us, you Dear? God thought of you and so I am here. JANUARY SECOND What is the dream in the Baby's eyes As he lies and blinks in a mute surprise? . . . . . . . . Bathed in the dawnlight, what does he see That slow years have hidden from you and from me? JANUARY THIRD Little Life from out the life Divine, Little heart so near and dear to mine, Little bark, new-launched upon Life's sea Floating o'er the tide to mine and me, Little comer on our shore of time, Little ray from out God's great sublime, Little traveller from Eternity May my love protect and shelter thee. JANUARY FOURTH What shall we wrap the Baby in? Nothing that fingers have woven will do: Looms of the heart weave ever anew: Love, only Love is the right thread to spin Love we must wrap the Baby in. JANUARY FIFTH Look at me with thy large brown eyes, For round thee the purple shadow lies Of babyhood's regal dignities. Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, With Love's invisible scepter laden; I am thine Esther to command, Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden, JANUARY SIXTH Nay, but our children in our midst, What else but our hearts are they, If but the breeze blew harsh on one of them, Mine eye says "No" to slumber all night long. Hittan idnibn al-Mu'alla of Tayyi JANUARY SEVENTH We must take all our children bring us whether it be Joy or Pain. JANUARY EIGHTH Oh child, what news from Heaven? JANUARY NINTH Sweet floweret, pledge o' meikle love, And ward o' mony a prayer, What heart o' stane wad thou na move, Sae helpless, sweet and fair? JANUARY TENTH His child's unsullied purity demands The deepest reverence at a parent's hands. JANUARY ELEVENTH Little Gossip, blithe and hale, Tattling many a broken tale, Singing many a tuneless song, Lavish of a heedless tongue, Simple maid, void of art, Babbling out thy very heart. JANUARY TWELFTH O child! O new-born denizen Of Life's great city! On thy head The glory, of the morn is shed Like a celestial benison. JANUARY THIRTEENTH Ah! This taking to one's arms a little group of souls, fresh from the hand of God, and living with them in loving companionship through all their stainless years is, or ought to be, like living in Heaven, for of such is the Heavenly Kingdom. JANUARY FOURTEENTH The sun of dawn, That brightens through the mother's tender eyes. JANUARY FIFTEENTH We are so dull and thankless; and too slow To catch the sunshine till it slips away, And now it seems surpassing strange to me That while I wore the badge of Motherhood, I did not kiss more oft and tenderly The little child that brought me only good. JANUARY SIXTEENTH Children are God's apostles, day by day Sent forth to preach of Love and Hope and Peace. JANUARY SEVENTEENTH She has forgotten her sufferings for joy that the child is born. JANUARY EIGHTEENTH A Baby's feet, like sea-shells pink, Might tempt, should Heaven see meet, An angel's lips to kiss, we think, Like rose-hued sea flowers, toward the heart They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet. JANUARY NINETEENTH Greek babies were like the babies of modern Europe: equally troublesome, equally delightful to their parents, equally uninteresting to the rest of society. JANUARY TWENTIETH They knew as I do now, what keen delight A strong man feels to watch the tender flight Of little children playing in his sight. JANUARY TWENTY-FIRST The child would twine A trustful hand, unasked in thine And find his comfort in thy face. JANUARY TWENTY-SECOND This little seed of life and love, JANUARY TWENTY-THIRD Pray for the infant's soul: With its spirit crown unsoiled. JANUARY TWENTY-FOURTH Child of brighter than the morning's birth, And lovelier than all smiles that may be smiled Save only of little children undefiled, Sweet, perfect, witless of their own dear worth, Like rose of love, mute melody of mirth, Glad as a bird is when the woods are mild, Adorable as is nothing save a child, Hails with wide eyes and lips on earth, His lovely life with all its heaven to be. JANUARY TWENTY-FIFTH Where has he gone to, Mother's boy, Little plaid dresses and curls of joy? Who is this Gentleman, haughty in glance Walking around in a new pair of pants? JANUARY TWENTY-SIXTH It is very nice to think The world is full of meat and drink, With little children saying grace In every Christian kind of place. JANUARY TWENTY-SEVENTH Did truth on earth ever hide, Hath innocence anywhere smiled, Did purity anywhere bide, They are found in the eyes of a child. JANUARY TWENTY-EIGHTH Now he thinks he 'll go to sleep: I can see the shadows creep Over his eyes in soft eclipse, Over his brow and over his lips, Out to his little finger tips: Softly sinking down he goes! Down he goes! Down he goes! See! He is hushed in sweet repose! JANUARY TWENTY-NINTH To what shall I liken her smiling Upon me, her kneeling lover? How it leaped from her lips to her eyelids, And dimpled her wholly over, Till her outstretched hands smiled also And I almost seem to see The very heart of her mother Sending sun, through her veins, to me. JANUARY THIRTIETH Innocent child and snow-white flower, Well are ye paired in your opening hour! Reprinted from Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, by permission of D. Appleton & Company. JANUARY THIRTY-FIRST Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said, For ye are living poems And all the rest are dead. FEBRUARY FEBRUARY FIRST I wonder so that mothers ever fret At little children clinging to their gown; Or that the footprints, when the days are wet Are ever black enough to make them frown, If I could find a little muddy boot, Or cap or jacket on my chamber floor, If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot And hear it patter in my house once more; If I could mend a broken cart to-day, To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky— There is no woman in God's world could say She was more blissfully content than I. FEBRUARY SECOND The very souls of children readily receive the impressions of those things that are dropped into them while they are yet but soft. FEBRUARY THIRD As babes will sigh for deep content When their sweet hearts for peace make room, As given, not lent. FEBRUARY FOURTH Childhood soberly she wears, Taking hold of woman's cares Through love's outreach, unawares. FEBRUARY FIFTH I searched for love through many a weary mile, Till, sick and weary, to my homestead turning Thou earnest to greet me with a mother's smile And there upon thy dearest features burning I saw that love I long had sought in vain. FEBRUARY SIXTH And still the children listed, their blue eyes Fixed on their mother's face in wide surprise. FEBRUARY SEVENTH So we will not sell the Baby! Your gold and gems and stuff, Were they ever so rare and precious Would never be half enough! For what would we care, My Dearie, What glory the world put on, If our beautiful darling was going, If our beautiful darling was gone. FEBRUARY EIGHTH The happy children! Full of frank surprise, And sudden whims and innocent ecstacies: What Godhead sparkles from their liquid eyes. FEBRUARY NINTH With his first babe's first cry, the noble wish To save all earnings to the uttermost, And give his child a better bringing up Than his had been, or hers. FEBRUARY TENTH Children have more need of models than of critics. FEBRUARY ELEVENTH I wait for my story—the birds cannot sing it, Not one as he sits on his tree; The bells can not ring it, but long years oh, bring it Such as I wish it to be. FEBRUARY TWELFTH Thou who didst not erst deny The mother-joy to Mary mild, Blessed in the blessed child. Which hearkened in meek babyhood Her cradle hymn, albeit used To all that music interfused In breasts of angels high and good. FEBRUARY THIRTEENTH So sits the while at home the mother well content. FEBRUARY FOURTEENTH What use to me the gold and silver hoard? What use to me the gems most rich and rare? Brighter by far—aye, bright beyond compare, The joys my children to my heart afford. FEBRUARY FIFTEENTH Never to living ears came sweeter sounds Than when I heard thee, by our own fireside First uttering, without words, a natural tune While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy Sing at thy mother's breast. FEBRUARY SIXTEENTH Not bettered, quickened toward the truth and good Through being a mother? FEBRUARY SEVENTEENTH One's early life is certainly a great deal more amusing to look back to than it used to be while it was going on. FEBRUARY EIGHTEENTH When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose my babe on me; So may thy mother and thy nurse Thy cradle also be. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy. FEBRUARY NINETEENTH Ere thy lips learn, too soon, Their soft, first human tune, Sweet, but less sweet than now, And thy raised eyes to read Glad and good things indeed, But none so sweet as thou. FEBRUARY TWENTIETH Beat upon mine, little heart! beat! beat! Beat upon mine! You are mine, my sweet! All mine, from your pretty blue eyes to your feet. FEBRUARY TWENTY-FIRST What is the little one thinking about? Very wonderful things no doubt! Unwritten history! Unfathomed mystery! FEBRUARY TWENTY-SECOND The real education of children is to keep them at work and make them unselfish. FEBRUARY TWENTY-THIRD Then be contented. Thou hast got The most of Heaven in thy young lot; There's sky blue in thy cup. FEBRUARY TWENTY-FOURTH Her infancy, a wonder-working charm, Laid hold upon his love. FEBRUARY TWENTY-FIFTH So for the mother's sake the child was dear, And dearer was the mother for the child. FEBRUARY TWENTY-SIXTH A kiss when the day is over, A kiss when the day begins, My mamma's as full of kisses As a nurse is full of pins. FEBRUARY TWENTY-SEVENTH The child-heart is so strange a little thing, So mild, so timorously shy and small, When grown-up hearts throb, it goes scampering Behind the wall, nor dares peer out at all! It is the veriest mouse That hides in any house! So wild a thing is any child-heart! From "A Child World." Copyright, 1897. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. |
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