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Softly sinking, down he goes!
Down he goes! down he goes!
See! he is hushed in sweet repose!

Josiah Gilbert Holland


Он, to come home once more, when the dusk is falling,

To see the nursery lighted and the children's table spread;

"Mother, mother, mother!" the eager voices calling,

"The baby was so sleepy that he had to go to bed!"

Oh, to come home once more, and see the smiling faces,

Dark head, bright head, clustered at the


Much the years have taken, when the heart its path retraces,

But until time is not for me, the image will remain.

Men and women now they are, standing straight and steady,

Grave heart, gay heart, fit for life's em


Shoulder set to shoulder, how should they be

but ready!

The future shines before them with the light of their own eyes.

Still each answers to my call; no good has been denied me,

My burdens have been fitted to the little strength that 's mine,

Beauty, pride and peace have walked by day beside me,

The evening closes gently in, and how can I repine?

But oh, to see once more, when the early dusk is falling;

The nursery windows glowing and the children's table spread;

"Mother, mother, mother!" the high childvoices calling,

"He could n't stay awake for you, he had

to go to bed!"



THE dark-fringed eyelids slowly close
On eyes serene and deep;

Upon my breast my own sweet child
Has gently dropped to sleep;

I kiss his soft and dimpled cheek,
I kiss his rounded chin,
Then lay him on his little bed,
And tuck my baby in.

How fair and innocent he lies;

Like some small angel strayed,

His face still warmed by God's own smile,
That slumbers unafraid;

Or like some new embodied soul,
Still pure from taint of sin

My thoughts are reverent as I stoop
To tuck my baby in.

What toil must stain these tiny hands
That now lie still and white?
What shadows creep across the face
That shines with morning light?
These wee pink shoeless feet—how far
Shall go their lengthening tread,
When they no longer cuddled close
May rest upon this bed?

O what am I that I should train
An angel for the skies;
Or mix the potent draught that feeds
The soul within these eyes?

I reach him up to the sinless Hands

Before his cares begin,

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Great Father, with Thy folds of love,

O tuck my baby in.

Curtis May


THE wind blew wide the casement, and within

It was the loveliest picture! - a sweet child Lay in its mother's arms, and drew its life, In pauses, from the fountain, the white


Part shaded by loose tresses, soft and dark, Concealing, but still showing, the fair realm Of so much rapture, as green shadowing


With beauty shroud the brooklet. The red lips

Were parted, and the cheek upon the breast Lay close, and, like the young leaf of the flower,

Wore the same color, rich and warm and

And such alone are beautiful. Its eye,
A full blue gem, most exquisitely set,
Looked archly on its world, the little

As if it knew even then that such a wreath
Were not for all; and with its playful hands
It drew aside the robe that hid its realm,
And peeped and laughed aloud, and so it

Its head on the shrine of such pure joys,

And, laughing, slept. And while it slept, the


Of the sweet mother fell upon its cheek, Tears such as fall from April skies, and bring

The sunlight after. They were tears of joy; And the true heart of that young mother


Grew lighter, and she sang unconsciously The silliest ballad-song that ever yet Subdued the nursery's voices, and brought


To fold her sabbath wings above its couch.

William Gilmore Simms


WITHIN the crib that stands beside my bed
A little form in sweet abandon lies
And as I bend above with misty eyes
I know how Mary's heart was comforted.

O world of Mothers! blest are we who know

The ecstasy the deep God-given


That Mary felt when all the earth was


In the Judean starlight long ago!

Anne P. L. Field

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