Poet: Unknown
My hands were busy through the day
I didn't have much time to play
The little games you asked me to.
I didn't have much time for you.
I'd wash your clothes, I'd sew and cook,
But when you'd bring your picture book
And ask me please to share your fun,
I'd say: "A little later, son."
I'd tuck you in all safe at night
And hear your prayers, turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door...
I wish I'd stayed a minute more.
For time is short, the years rush past.
A little boy grows up so fast.
No longer is he at your side,
His precious secrets to confide.
The picture books are put away,
There are no longer games to play,
No good-night kiss, no prayers to hear. . .
That all belongs to yesteryear.
My hands, once busy, now are still.
The days are long and hard to fill.
I wish I could go back and do
The little things you asked me to.
Poet: Elizabeth Akers
Two little feet, so small that both may nestle
In one caressing hand, —
Two tender feet upon the untried border
Of life's mysterious land.
Dimpled, and soft, and pink as peach-tree blossoms,
In April's fragrant days.
How can they walk among the briery tangles.
Edging the world's rough ways?
These rose-white feet, along the doubtful future,
Must bear a mother's load;
Alas I since Woman has the heaviest burden,
And walks the harder road.
Love, for a while, will make the path before them
All dainty, smooth, and fair, —
Will cull away the brambles, letting only
The roses blossom there.
But when the mother's watchful eyes are shrouded
Away from sight of men.
And these dear feet are left without her guiding.
Who shall direct them then?
How will they be allured, betrayed, deluded,
Poor little untaught feet I
Into what dreary mazes will they wander,
What dangers will they meet?
Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness
Of Sorrow's tearful shades?
Or find the upland slopes of Peace and Beauty,
Whose sunlight never fades?
Will they go toiling up Ambition's summit.
The common world above?
Or in some nameless vale, securely sheltered.
Walk side by side with Love?
Some feet there be which walk Life's track unwounded.
Which find but pleasant ways:
Some hearts there be to which this life is only
A round of happy days.
But these are few. Far more there are who wander
Without a hope or friend, —
Who find their journey full of pains and losses,
And long to reach the end.
How shall it be with her, the tender stranger.
Fair-faced and gentle-eyed.
Before whose unstained feet the world's rude highway
Stretches so fair and wide?
Ah! who may read the future? For our darling
We crave all blessings sweet,
And pray that He who feeds the crying ravens
Will guide the baby's feet.
Quotes About Babies
Poet: Unknown
Our little baby speaks not,
Save with her pleading eyes;
Her fingers' earnest claspings,
Her eager, plaintive cries.
Yet many a holy lesson
Our baby teaches me;
How dear the little teacher!
How sweet her lessons be!
She tells me what is prayer:
Not words, or sounding speech;
But just the spirit wrestling
As best its wants may teach.
She tells me not to slacken
Nor cease my earnest cry.
Until the needful blessing
Be granted from on high.
She tells me how confiding
A child-like soul may rest.
Trusting the sleepless watchings
Of Him who loves us best.
These, and many other lessons
Our baby teaches me;
How dear the little teacher!
How sweet her lessons be!
Poet: Unknown
A kiss when I wake in the morning,
A kiss when I go to bed,
A kiss when I burn my fingers,
A kiss when I bump my head.
A kiss when I give her trouble,
A kiss when I give her joy;
There's nothing like mamma's kisses
To her own little baby-boy.
