Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained
strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest read more

Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained
strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the
enemy and the avenger.

Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing.

Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing.

What is the little one thinking about?
Very wonderful things, no doubt;
Unwritten history!
read more

What is the little one thinking about?
Very wonderful things, no doubt;
Unwritten history!
Unfathomed mystery!
Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks,
And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks,
As if his head were as full of kinks
And curious riddles as any sphinx!
- Josiah Gilbert Holland (used pseudonym Timothy Titcomb),

He smiles, and sleeps!--sleep on
And smile, thou little, young inheritor
Of a world scarce less young: read more

He smiles, and sleeps!--sleep on
And smile, thou little, young inheritor
Of a world scarce less young: sleep on and smile!
Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering
And innocent!

Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
read more

Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
To hail his father; while his little form
Flutters as winged with joy. Talk not of pain!
The childless cherubs well might envy thee
The pleasures of a parent.

When the baby dies,
On every side
Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud.
read more

When the baby dies,
On every side
Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud.
The baby was not wrapped in any shroud.
The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed
That men's eyes might not see
Her misery.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
read more

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

Rock-bye-baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock.
When the bough bends read more

Rock-bye-baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock.
When the bough bends the cradle will fall,
Down comes the baby, cradle and all.

How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn read more

How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn beneath them.
And his lips, too,
How beautifully parted! No; you shall not
Kiss him; at least not now; he will wake soon--
His hour of midday rest is nearly over.