Speak gently! 'tis a little thing
Dropp'd in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy, that it may bring
Eternity shall tell.
~G. W. Langford: Speak gently.
A baby's
hands, like rosebuds furled
Whence yet no leaf expands,
Ope if you touch, though
close upcurled,
A baby's hands.
Then, fast as warriors grip their brands
When
battle's bolt is hurled,
They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.
No
rosebuds yet by dawn impearled
Match, even in loveliest lands,
The sweetest
flowers in all the world-
A baby's hands.
~Swinburne
Treasure
I am rich today, a baby ran to meet me,
And put her tiny hand within my own
And smiled, her rosy lips a flower,
The light within her eyes, from heaven shone.
And when I crossed the fields the birds were singing,
A golden blossom in my pathway lay,
It wasn't much; but, oh, the joy there's in it,
To have a baby smile at you
In just that way.
~Marguerite A. Gutschow
Old Mothers
I love old mothers--mothers with white hair
And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet,
With murmured blessings over sleeping babes.
There is a something in their quiet grace
That sparks the calm of Sabbath afternoons;
A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes
That far outreaches all philosophy.
Time, with caressing touch about them weaves
The silver-threaded fairy-shawl of age,
While all the echoes of forgotten songs
Seem joined to lend a sweetness to their speech.
Old mothers!--as they pass with slow-timed step,
Their trembling hands cling gently to youth's strength.
Sweet mothers!--as they pass, one sees again
Old garden walks, old roses, and old loves.
~Charles Sarsfield Ross
