THE PLAYMATE HOURS. Dear Child, 't is your poor lot to be I'm glad, though I am old, you see, 137 While you are One. FREDERICK LOCKER. BABY. IMPLED and flushed and dewy pink he lies, D" Crumpled and tossed and lapt in snowy bands; Aimlessly reaching with his tiny hands, Lifting in wondering gaze his great blue eyes. Soft cheeks, warm tinted as from tropic lands; By never gale of idle passion crossed! Though pain and death may take thee captive, still ELAINE GOODALE. THE PLAYMATE HOURS. AWN lingers silent in the shade of night, DA Till on the gloaming Baby's laughter rings. Then smiling Day awakes, and open flings Her golden doors, to speed the shining flight Of restless hours, gay children of the light. -- Some separate gift, -a flitting bird that sings With her; a waving branch of berries bright; A heap of rustling leaves; each trifle cheers This joyous little life but just begun. No weary hour to her brings sighs or tears; And when the shadows warn the loitering sun, With blossoms in her hands, untouched by fears, She softly falls asleep, and day is done. MRS. T. W. HIGGINSON. CRADLE SONG. HE winds are whispering over the sea, THE And the waves are listening smilingly, They are telling tales of the shining sky, And the dusky lands they travel by. They are telling tales they have often told,- Of hope and fear, of love and hate, Of homes of joy and hearts of pain, SOME TIME. And the sun laughs down in his own kind way, You may feel the waves as the cradle swings, Then hush! my baby, gently rest 139 In the night's wide arms, on the earth's broad breast, The sky above, beneath the sea, And a greater than all to shelter thee. MERLE ST. CROIX WRIGHT. SOME TIME. LAST night, my darling, as you slept, I thought I heard you sigh, And to your little crib I crept, And watched a space thereby; And then I stooped and kissed your brow, You are too young to know it now, But some time you shall know! Some time when, in a darkened place Your eyes shall look upon a face Calm in eternal sleep. |