Our Maude was dancing with her doll,
    In childhood's chattering glee;
  A brimming bucket standing by,
    The maiden failed to see,
  And skipping, tripped; the bucket tipped;
    The water, cool and clear,              {237}  Was rudely swayed, but, undismayed,
    And quickly kneeling near,
  Both little hands she spread above
    The water's merry surge.
  "And what's she doing there," we ask?
    No answer, till we urge,
  And then, "Why mamma, don't you know
    God stilled the waves so wild,
  With His great hand? And so I thought,
    Although I'm but a child,
  That I might still these little waves
    With my two hands so small;
  And mamma, see, they're quiet now!
    But where's my baby-doll?"

  Mamma keeps her children
    In the happiest mood
  When she feeds them only
    With the simplest food.
  Viands clog and pain them,
    Then they fret and cry,
  And then when she whips them,
    Everything's awry.

  Over in the meadow where the men make hay,
  In an elm-tree shadow on a bright summer day,
  Two speckled quails ponder as to what will be best,
  Should the stout mower blunder on their pretty home-nest.

  But a cloud in a minute from her great white bed
  Threw a big silver bonnet o'er the sun's golden head
  And the quails, though they wondered would their home be beset,
  Cried aloud, and it thundered: "More wet! more wet!"   {239}
  Then the great sturdy yeoman coming close to the nest,
  With the heart of a true man beating soft in his breast,
  Saw the parent-quails watching, with what fear who can tell?
  Saw the baby-quails hatching, hardly out of the shell.

  And who knows but he thought of his own precious baby
  His dear little daughter in her mother's arms, maybe?
  For he quickly made over that portion of meadow
  With the sweetest of clover, and the softest of shadow.

  To the quails who all summer lived alongside the lane,
  Ever warning the farmer of the forth-coming rain;
  For long ere it thundered and I hear the cry yet
  They would call as they wandered, "More wet! More wet!"

* * * * *

  DIDN'T-THINK is a heedless lad
    And never takes the prize:
  Remember-well wins every time.
    For he is quick and wise.

  This little girl knows how to make
  A batch of bread, or loaf of cake;
  She helps to cook potatoes, beets,
  To boil or bake the fish and meats.
  She knows to sweep and make a bed,
  Can hem a handkerchief for Ned;
  In short, a little housewife she,
  As busy as the busy bee.          {241}
  Let every girl learn how to do
  All things that help to make life true;
  That serve to keep the home-hearth bright;
  That o'er life's burdens throw a light.
  And then if she may never need
  Herself to labor, she may lead
  Her household in the better way,
  That eft shall bring a brighter day.

  The boys, too, let them learn to know
  Of household duties, and to sew;
  For oft a button, oft a rip,
  By sewing they may save a "fip."
  Yes, let them know that "woman's work"
  With many a turn and many a quirk,
  Is not "a play with straws," as some.
  Would seem to think. 'Tis making home.

  "AR-G-O-O, ar-g-o-o," is the song of songs,
    To the loving mother's ear;
  "Ar-g-o-o, ar-g-o-o," these baby notes
    Fill all the house with cheer.

  The baby's laugh, the baby's coo.
    The baby's every move,
  Is music, joy, and grace to her,
    Who is rich in mother-love.   {243}
  The precious pearl that is first unlocked
    By Nature's mystic key,
  From out the baby's jewel-box,
    Makes mamma's jubilee.

  The day of baby's mastership
    To raise himself upright,
  An era marks along the way,
    By mother-love made light.

  Her mother-voice lures on his step,
    Her care protects from harm;
  While deeper into her heart he glides,
    With every opening charm.

  And when he "ma-ma" sweetly says,
    Or "pa-pa," in her breast
  His throne is fixed forevermore,
    This prince of babes confessed.

  When threads of thought begin to spin,
    And webs of mind to weave,
  When kindling soul looks out at eyes
    That know not to deceive,--

  The mother's holiest task to keep
    Her darling pure and true;
  Her constant care, her watchful prayer,
    Alone can guide him through   {244}
  The maze his youthful feet must tread,
    And if perchance he fall,
  Her baby still in him she sees,
    Her love can cover it all.

  O, the wondrous love the baby brings,
    Is far beyond our ken!
  We only know that the fount once oped,
    Can never be dry again.

* * * * *

  It snows! yes, it snows! and the children are wild,
  At thought of the fun in the snow-drifts up-piled;
  The boy with his first new boots is in sight,
  And the wee baby-girl, with her mittens so bright.
  They are tramping and tossing the snow as they run,
  And laughing and shouting, so brimful of fun;
  While the ten-year-old twins, in a somersault mood,
  Have measured their length from the barn to the wood.
  A dozen times, yes, or it may be a score,
  Till their cheeks are as red as the roses, and more;
  Then the elfin of twelve and the boy of fifteen,
  Are pelting each other with snowballs so keen,
  That we, who are older, forget to be staid,    {245}  And shout, each with each, as the youngsters, arrayed
  In feathery garments, press on or retreat,
  Determined to win, nor acknowledge defeat,
  And the snow tumbles down with such beauty and grace
  That the air seems filled up with soft, bridal-veil lace,
  Through whose meshes the sunbeams shall kiss Mother Earth,
  Till the buds and the blossoms are bred into birth.
  But the children, at length, tired out with their play,
  And stamping the snow from their feet by the way,
  Come slipping and stumbling and scrambling along,
  While the big brother catching the baby-girl's song,
  "Oh, my finders are told!" gives her now a gay toss,
  The golden hair streaming like distaff of floss;
  And so cheery the group that is ranged round the board,
  That for snow, blessed snow! we all thank the good Lord.

    "If you'll break the first brake
    And will kill the first snake,
    You'll be sure to go through
    With what you undertake."

  Thus our Grandma, quaint but queenly,
    Taught us grand-bairns one by one;
  And the lesson relished keenly
    Filled each spring-time full of fun.

  For the watchful eyes were eager,
    And the flying feet must roam
  Till they every nook beleaguer
    Round the old ancestral home.

* * * * *

  But 'twas not the broken brakelet
    That wrought good for after years;
  Not the killing of the snakelet,
    But the conquering of fears,

  And the patient, wistful watching,
    Educating thought and eye,
  Made the brakelet and the snakelet
    Types of weal for bye and bye.

     In the spring when the grass
     Had sprung up in the pass,
  And the meadows with velvet were green,
     We children would tease,
     "O, dear mother, please
     Let us doff shoes and stockings,
     (Ah! naught gave us shockings),
  And barefooted run o'er the leas,
  Aye, barefooted run o'er the leas."

     And mother, so wise,
     Looking into our eyes,--    {249} "There's a snowdrift down under the hill!
     But when you will bring me,
     Yes, when you will fling me
     A dandelion blossom
     To wear on my bosom
  You may barefooted run as you will,
  Aye, barefooted run as you will."

     So for "guineas of gold,"
     O'er the dandelion-wold,
  We hunted afar and anear;
     And with shouts of delight
     We all greeted the sight
     Of the fully-blown flower
     Presaging the shower
  Of bright blossoms that brought us such cheer,
  Aye, the blossoms that brought us such cheer.

* * * * *

  FEAR naught save that which slimes thee o'er
    With falsity or fraud:--
  Let thine own soul stand clean and white
    Before its maker, God.

  The sun shines on forever
    Though clouds may hide his face;
  His brightness and his glory
    The whole wide world may trace
  For clouds are naught but vapor
    Whose fleecy veils unfold,
  And softest silver lining
    We then with joy behold.

* * * * *

  Our Ethel was not always,
    As people may have thought,
  A goody-goody little girl
    Who never mischief wrought.

  Oh, no, our darling Ethel,
    The precious little woman,
  Although so very dear to us,
    Was most intensely human.

  She waded into mischief
    Like ducklets into water,
  And kept us ever on the watch
    With, "Daughter!" "Oh, my Daughter!"

  She took the ribbon from her hair
    The kitten to bedeck,
  Then brought its tail between its legs
    And tied it tail and neck.

  She took her dolly to the pump
    And pinned it on the spout,
  And then with all her might and main
    She pumped the water out.

  "Oh, little Haynth tho' thelfith,'
    She cried, because her cousin      {252}  Besought one pillow, while she hugged
    Them all, a half a dozen.

  She found a bell that tinkled,
    And fastened it, for fun,
  'Round kitty's neck then clapped her hands,
    And cried, run! Kitty, run!

  She fain would pick the eyes out,
    Of little baby-brother,
  "To find the pretty balls like those
    In fishes' eyes, and other."     {253}
  And then she'd fold her little hands
    So quaintly and demurely,
  You'd think she must be quite a saint,
    Or not a sinner, surely.

  And thus her pranks from day to day
    And hour to hour repeated,
  Would bring the thought, "Tis all for naught,
    Our aims are all defeated."

* * * * *

  Nay, nay, not so, the years roll by,
    And Ethel's baby-mischief
  Becomes the power that leads her kind,
    For by her force she is chief.

* * * * *

  ONE of us e'er lives in dates,
  One in every peach awaits;
  One in pine-apple is found,
  One in orange, bright and round,
  One in plum, so luscious sweet,
  And our last in strawberry--treat.

  Now Susy's such a naughty dirl,
    And I ain't any better,
  And so we thought we just would wite
    The dear dood Dod a letter.

  And tell him all about our bad,
    Betause he'd have to know,
  Or else he touldn't mate us dood,
    And so we told him how,

  Once when I spit on Susy's dwess
    Then Susy spit on me;
  And when I bwote her dolly's arm
    She smashed my Twistmas-twee.

  Then when I pushed her off the wall,
    She spattered me with mud;
  When I pulled up her tolumbine,
    She snapped my wed wose-bud

  I talled her "old dwanmother Dwill"
    And she tailed me "old maid,"--
  And then we stwatched each others' eyes
    Down in the darden shade.

  And then my ma and Susy's ma
    Both said the only way
  Would be to teep us little dirls
    Apart in all our play.   {257}
  And so the bid, brown date was shut,
    And that was such a bother,--
  'Tause Susy's yard was on one side
    And mine was on the other.

  But we tould peet thwough all the twats,
    And tiss us thwough the hole
  Where the bid, udly knot tame out,
    As bid as Susy's bowl,

  For I love Susy awful much,
    And Susy she loves me,
  And so we told the dear, dood Dod
    We'd twy dood dirls to be.

  So now when we just feel the bad
    A-tomin' in our heart,
  We both wun home and shut the date
    And teep ourselves apart.

  And in a minute all the dood
    Tomes bat,--and then our plays
  Seem nicer yet, and we fordet
    The naughty,--naughty--ways.

  "Tis guilt to wear the garb of sin,
  Though all be innocent within,"
  These little girls heard grandma say,
  And wondered if 'twere half in play.
  But when they're wiser, older grown,
  And when the world to them is known,
  They'll learn to shun even seeming ill;
  They'll learn with grace their lives to fill,
  And thank dear grandma o'er and o'er,
  For this, and many lessons more.
  "'Tis guilt to wear the garb of sin,
  Though all be innocent within."

  "If you do well by others' ills,
  You'll do right well," she said,
  When we would come and tell about
  The naughtiness of Ned.
  "Now children, if you shun the bad
  You may in others find,
  And never let yourself be rude,
  Or naughty, or unkind,
  You'll learn to do by others' ills
  Right well," dear grandma said,
  "And in the way that's good and true,
  Your youthful feet shall tread."

  I'm four years old to-day, and I
  Can talk enough for ten birth-days,
    And I shan't rhyme it, neither;--
  For little girls can't do it nice.
  No matter what they think, and so
    They needn't try, no, never.

  I'm glad you all are here, and now,
  With all our dollies in a row,
    I'm sure we'll have good times;
  And when we have our apples, grapes,
  And nuts and figs and patty-cakes,
    Who'll care for silly rhymes!

  ELZIE'S kitty, white as snow,
  Loves his little mistress so,
  That he'll come at her command,
  Lift his paw to shake her hand,
  Bow his head and kneel to her,
  Rumpling all his milk-white fur;
  Many another pretty trick,
  Too, he's learned, our Elzie's Dick.   {262}
  Well, the Church-Fair coming on,
  Elzie thought, "What can be done
  By a little girl like me,
  In the cause of charity?"

  Mam'a told her she would show
  Her some fancy work to do,
  Which a half-a-dozen dimes
  Sure would bring;--so, many times
  Elzie made her fingers fly
  Neat and nice to form the "tie."
  Now our Elzie, large and fine,
  Looks like twelve, though only nine--
  And the "tie" when quite complete,
  Was so small, though choice and neat,
  That it could not be denied,
  Elzie was not satisfied.
  So she shook her curly head,
  As with curious smile she said:
  "If I were a little girl,
  Like Nannette or Cousin Pearl,
  This wee 'tie' might then appear
  Just the thing,--but now, I fear,
  Looking at the 'tie' and me,
  We shall seem to disagree.--

  Now, Mamma, don't answer quick;
  Stop and think,--my snowy Dick
  At the Fair might win some pence,
  By his wise obedience;
  And his pretty winsome ways
  Being shown through all the days;--
  And, dear Mamma, then I should
  Feel I'd done the best I could."

  Quickly Mamma took the thought,
  And a royal cage was brought;
  Cushion made of scarlet bright,--
  For our Dicky, pure and white,
  Thus was wont to perch and sit,--
  And a collar blue we fit
  To his neck, when loyal, true,
  He presents red, white, and blue.

  So the cage is placed within
  A sly corner, free from din,
  And with tickets five cents each,
  Elzie sought her end to reach.

  "Handsome Dick! weight fifteen pounds"--
  Whispers Elzie on her rounds;
  "What is 'Handsome Dick'?" they say;
  "Come and see, please,--step this way;"

  And once seen they're glad to tell
  Others of white Dick, as well;--
  For the cat, as knowing now
  He must make his courtliest bow.   {265}
  Did his best to help along
  Elzie's plan, the friends among.
  Upon his cushion he would stand,
  Or sit, as Elzie might command;
  Then down upon his blanket lie
  And be wrapped up like baby-bye;
  Would lap his milk, or dainty, sip,
  And shake his pretty under-lip,
  Thus showing teeth as white as pearl,--
  Then round and round would quickly whirl,
  Till each one seeing, cheerful, said:
  "For that five cents I'm sure we're paid."

  Thus the three days passing by,
  Which the Fair must occupy--
  Dollars ten--ah, yes! and more,
  Elzie holds within her store!
  Dues for cage and tickets met,
  And the ten is Elzie's yet,--
  Which unto the Fair she gave
  With an air so joyful-grave,
  That it seemed a spirit bright,
  Nestled in her heart so light;--
  And a happier child than she,
  We may never hope to see.

  Kisses, kisses, raining, raining,
    On her lips, her cheeks, her brow,
  Till she, wearied, "Daughter, darling,
    Mamma's had enough for now."
  "Ah! but Bessie has so many!"--
    Naught the pretty prattler daunts;
  Mamma pleading, baby shouting,
    "Ah! but Bessie's more'n she wants."

  The homeliest things are highest worth,
    The dinner-pot's a treasure
  Compared with diamonds, chains and rings,
    Which serve alone for pleasure;--
  Enwreathe the dinner-pot with flame,
    And fill it with love's mixings,
  And it possesses charms beyond
    All gold or fancy fixings.

  And then, our bony frame-work, too,
    So stiff and hard and homely,
  Will serve when plumpness all is gone,
    And lost is all that's comely.
  Fling beauty, grace and sweetness round,
    Festoon your lives with flowers,
  But ne'er forget that plainest things
    Are life's most precious dowers.

  Our Nanny helped her mother
    In many a childish way,--
  She picked up chips to feed the fire,
    And "played that it was play."

  She loved the hens and chickens
    And fed them day by day,
  And dubbed them each with quaintest name,
    And this was always play.

  She hunted through the big barn
    For hens' nests in the hay,
  And fetched the eggs right carefully,
    And this again was play.

  She donned her mother's dust-cap
    And danced about so gay,
  And planned how she would house-keep,
    And this was "truly play."

  With basin full of water
    She scrubbed the door one day,
  And splashed about till mother dear
    Must work instead of play.

  With brush and broom a-sweeping
    She fluttered like a fay;
  The broken cup soon told her
    'Twas anything but play.   {271}
  She romped around the hay-field
    And shook the new-mown hay,
  And with her baby-rake she gleaned
    The meadow for her play.

  She ran to pick the berries
    That ripened by the way,
  And with her basket full to brim
    This was the best of play.

  So many things, so many,
    Far more than I can say,
  Our Nanny in her childhood
    Has "played that it was play."

  Our Nanny was but four years old
    When mother said, "My love,
  Your needle learn with skill to use,
    It will a blessing prove."

  So Nanny learned to "overhand,"
    And "hem" so fine and neat,
  To "backstitch," "run," and many a join
    That she could scarce repeat.   {273}
  She learned to "catch-stitch" and to "cross,"
    To "patch" and "darn," as well,
  To "gather," "plait," "box-plait" and "side,"
    To "feather-stitch" and "fell."

  She sewed the buttons fast, and "worked
    The buttonholes" so neat,
  That many an eld accomplishes
    With less success, the feat.

  "Be sure your thread is smooth and strong,
    A goodly knot or two,
  A double stitch for first, and then
    A fastening sure when through;

  "And thus your seams will never rip,
    Your sewing never wear,--
  Like buttons loose and hooks awry,--
    A slip-shod, shiftless air."

  All this and more her mother taught,
    And Nanny conned it o'er
  Till she was versed in all the arts
    That point the seamster's lore.

  Her ninth birthday, and mother said
   "You're old enough to care
  For all your clothing now, my child,
    Except the best you wear.

  "And here, within this little chest,
     And in this drawer wide,
  You'll keep them ranged so neat and nice,
    Whatever may betide.

  "A place for this, a place for that,
    Each garment grouped aright,
  That you may lay your little hand
    Upon it, day or night.

  "No garment must be laid within,
    Except it ready be,
  To don and wear, for thus you spare
    Us trouble, you and me."

  And Nanny, pleased with mother's trust,
    Accepted it with pride,
  And, in her heart, the lessons learned
    Forevermore abide.

  Our Nanny oft in fancy
    Soared up, the earth above,
  And sailed the great air-ocean
    With skylark or with dove.

  And in this fashion musing,
    One sunny summer's day,
  Half-watching mother mending
    And baby-brother play,

  Without a word of warning
    The old umbrella came,
  Opened upside down before her,
    And whispered soft her name.   {277}
  "Come, Nanny you've been longing
    For a ride, and now's your time:
  Jump in,--be quick! And careful, too,
    For I'm o'erpast my prime."

  So, springing in, she sat there
    As happy as you please,
  And through the open window,
    Was borne upon the breeze.

  The sparrows eyed her keenly,
    The doves left off their cooing,
  And children, cause they couldn't go,
    Set up a grand boo-hoo-ing.

  She bobbed against a clothes-line,
    And all the wash went flying;   {278}  The good dame cried, "A witch! a witch!
    The saints forefend my drying."

  And next she got entangled
    In the telegraphic wires;
  And when she jerked away from them,
    She bumped against the spires.

  She hit the tallest chimneys,
    And set the smoke a-curling,
  Then knocked a flag-pole all awry,
    The stars and stripes a-whirling.

  Now, far beyond the city,
    With mountains in her face,
  An eagle pounced to catch her,
    But she quickly won the race.

  Within a mountain cavelet,
    Two baby-bears so young,
  Smiled on her as she passed them,
    And greetings to her flung.

  She heard the thunder rolling.
    And saw the lightning's glare,
  From clouds away beneath her,
    While 'round her all was fair.

  She met a cherub driving
    A brace of butterflies,
  While dancing on a gorgeous one,
    Away in wonder-skies.

  She saw an angel lighting
    The stars up one by one,
  As he balanced on a cloudlet
    That was left behind the sun.

  She heard angelic music,
    Far up, the blue along,
  And knew 'twas Mary crooning o'er
    Her first sweet cradle-song.

  She saw such wondrous pictures,
    So beautiful and grand,
  Such skyscapes and such cloudscapes,
    Such waterscapes and land.

  But now the fluttering insects
    All round her plainly told
  That she was nearing Mother Earth
    Far o'er the daisy-wold;

  And startled at the distance
    From home, the baby screaming
  And mother still a-mending there,
    Told Nanny she'd been dreaming.

  A hop, a skip, and a gambol,
  A run, a tumble, a scramble,
  An up-and-a-going,
  A laughing-and-crowing,
  A weal-and-a-woe-ing,--
  Yes, a race for a ball
  Or a toy we may call,
  This race that is human,--
  For child, man, or woman,
  Tis one and the same,
  A mysterious game
  That is played by us all,
  And we each get a fall;
  And so many it may be
  That forever a baby
  We feel in the race
  For a name and a place.

  Know ye our little black-eyed boy?
    His name is Kenney Stone;
  Now listen, for he always speaks
    In such a gentle tone.

  He never says "I will!" "I wi'n't!"
    He's never rough nor rude,
  But always bows with, "Thank you; please;"
    And tries to be so good.

  Our Kenneth never kicks nor strikes,
    Nor makes an ugly face;
  He never slides down banisters,
    Nor puts things out of place.

  He never says a naughty word,
    Nor tells a big, big story!
  O, no, nor even a little one,
    To make us all so sorry.

  Our Kenneth is a gentleman,
    He will not scratch nor bite;
  He never speaks to any child,
    A word that is not right.

  Our Kenneth never slams the doors
    Nor stamps along the halls;
  He goes away when he is told,
    And comes when mamma calls.

  Our Kenneth, everybody loves,
    Because he's so polite,
  Our darling little black-eyed boy,
    Our Kenney Stone so bright.

  On thy cheek the roses lie;
    Lilies, on thy forehead fair;
  Violets blue, in each bright eye,
    Sunbeams, in thy golden hair.

  Pearls, within thy coral lips,
    Ears and nostrils, crystal-clear,
  Dainty, sea-shell finger tips,
    Form, a sylph might love to wear.

  Yet no beauty, thou, my child,
    Save as filled with inward grace;
  Save a spirit, undefiled,
    Warm thy heart and wreathe thy face.

  Dear children, you are sometimes led
    To sorrow, sin, and woe,             {289}  Because you have not courage quite,
    And dare not answer, No.

  When playmates tell you this, or that
    Is "very nice to do,"
  See first what mamma says, or if
    You think 'tis wrong, say No.

  Be always gentle, but be firm.
    And wheresoe'er you go,
  If you are asked to do what's wrong,
    Don't fear to answer, No.

  False friends may laugh and sneer at you.
    Temptations round you flow,
  But prove yourself both brave and true,
    And firmly tell them, No.

  Sometimes a thing that's not a sin,
    You might be asked to do,--
  But when you think it is not best,
    Don't yield, but answer, No.

  True friends will honor you the more,
    Ah, yes, and false ones too,
  When they have learned you're not afraid
    To stand and answer, No.   {290}
  And when temptations rise within,
    And plead to "come," or "go,"
  And do a wrong for "_just this once_"
    Be sure you answer, No.

  For when you once have done a Wrong,
    The Right receives a blow,--
  And Wrong will triumph easier now,
    So haste and answer, No.

  There's many a little boy and girl,
    And man and woman too,
  Have gone to ruin and to death
    For want of saying, No!

  So, young or old, or great or small,
    Don't fail, whate'er you do,
  To stand for Right and nobly dare
    To speak an honest No.

  Yes, my darling, when you question,
    I will answer, simple, plain,
  Just the Truth;--and when playmate
    Tells you anything again,
  Come to Mother, she will tell you,
    Yes, and tell you always true,
  For she knows what's low and sinful,
    And what's right and wrong for you.

  'Tis wrong, my dear, to do a thing
    That mother must not know;
  And when your playmates, old or young,
    Shall tell you thus to do,
  Leave them at once, and quickly come
    To your dear Mother's side,
  And tell her,--for she'll know what's wrong,
    And she will be your guide.

  Don't tell a lie, dear children,
    No matter what you do,--
  Own up and be a hero,
    Right honest, brave, and true.

  You'd better have a whipping
    Each day than tell a lie,--
  No, not a "white one," even,
    They lead to blackest dye.

  The rod but hurts your body,
    While lies deform your soul;--
  Don't mind the present smarting,
    Keep the spirit pure and whole.

  But I am sure that mamma
    And papa, too, will try
  To help you children tell the Truth,
    Nor drive you to a lie.

  They will not punish harshly,
    Nor when they're angry, quite;
  Nor promise, and then fail to do,--
    But always lead you right.

  In the Talmud you will find it,--
    In the quaint and curious lore
  Of the ancient priests, or Rabbins,
    Whom the people bowed before;

  Find the story of an infant
    Sitting on the kingly knee;
  "Little Moses," Pharaoh calls him,--
    Crowing loud in baby glee.   {295}
  And the banqueters were cheering,
    When the infant with a spring,
  Reached and caught the crown that rested
    Upon Pharaoh's head, as king.

  Caught the crown, and quickly placed it
    On his own unwitting head;
  But the king and all his princes,
    In the deed a meaning read.

  Then spake Balaam, the magician,
    "Not because the child is young,
  Hath he done this thing unknowing;--
    He hath mocked thee, he hath flung

  "In thy face thy kindly dealings;
    Such hath ever been the way
  Of his people; a usurper--
    Let his blood be spilled this day."

  But the winsome baby-fingers
    Toying with the kingly beard,
  Won the edict: "Call the judges;
    Let their counselings be heard."   {296}
  So the judges and the wise men
    Came with Jethro, Midian's priest,
  Who, with wish to save young Moses,
    Thus his majesty addressed:

  "If it to the king be pleasing,
    Fetch two plates, and we will hold
  Them before the babe, a-brimming,
    One with fire, and one with gold.

  "If the child shall grasp the golden,
    He hath done this knowingly;
  He will trample on thy statutes;
    For thine honor he must die.

  "But if he shall grasp the other,
    Know, O King, he knoweth nought
  Of a royal crown or scepter,--
    And his life with fire is bought."

  These wise words, the king approving,
    Plate of fire and plate of gold,
  Courtiers brought, and screams of anguish,
    Soon the childish choosing told.   {297}
  For he, baby-like, had thrust it
    In his mouth; and though he flung
  Quick the coal, he ever after
    Spake with slow and stammering tongue.

  Charming 'tis to see
  Children who agree;
  Chaste, and choice, and cheery,
  Chiming in so merry,
  Childlike, ever;
  Churlish, never.
  Championing the good;
  Challenging the rude;
  Chary as the dove;
  Chief in Jesus' love.

  Old Time has built a Railroad,
    On which you children speed
  To a land of light and plenty,
    Or a land of darksome need;
  And soon you'll come to a meadow,
    Where two tracks mark the way,
  But they'll run close up alongside
    For many and many a day.