THE Moon rose early, and Baby Ned
Was rather late in going to bed.
Not two years old, this dear little fellow,
With head so round, and bright, and yellow,
With his eyes so brown, and mouth so sweet,
His fair little hands, and dainty feet—
Wee feet, that have barely learned to walk—
And his wise, quaint, broken, baby talk.
He was perched that night on grandma's knee,
The place where the small king loved to be.
Where the wise brown eyes saw something new
Through the window, up there in the blue.
Over the top of the tallest hill,
Round and silvery, fair, and still,
God's grand old moon! that for ages past
Has held its way in the night-sky vast.
And Neddie wanted that shining ball
To hold in his hands so soft and small,
And nobody went and took it down.
He wrinkled his face to a little frown;
Red lips quivered—he wanted it soon;
Then—one more baby cried for the moon!
But mamma brought him his milk and bread,
And patted his dear little curly head.
Then quickly he smiled and forgot the moon,
And laughed at his face in his silver spoon.
O happy Neddie! so easy to smile;
Your life will be glad, if all the while
As the years go on you can turn away
From all that you want when God says "Nay,"
And laugh, and thank Him for what He may give—
That is the way for His child to live.
O manly boys, and sweet little girls!
With all your colors of eyes and curls,
If you would have life like a summer day,
Be content with the things that are in your way.
Seek ever the things that are pure and high,
As planets that move in the evening sky,
But if you can't have the shining moon,
Be glad when God offers the silver spoon.
Emily Baker Smalle.