THE CHILDREN'S HOUR BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, From my study I see in the lamplight, A whisper, and then a silence: A sudden rush from the stairway, They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Is not a match for you all! The Desire I have you fast in my, fortress, But put you down into the dungeon. And there will I keep you forever, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away. 253 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] LAUS INFANTIUM In praise of little children I will say God first made man, then found a better way Of all created things, the loveliest And most divine are children. Nothing here And though, when God saw all his works were good, 'Twas said of children in a later day That none could enter Heaven save such as they. The earth, which feels the flowering of a thorn, Heaven laughed to find your face so pure and fair, William Canton [1845 THE DESIRE GIVE me no mansions ivory white Nor palaces of pearl and gold; Give me a child for all delight, Just four years old. Give me no wings of rosy shine Give me no gold and starry crown Give me a cheek that's like the peach, Dear God, You give me from Your skies As Mary once her Paradise, Just four years old. Katherine Tynan [1861 A CHILD'S LAUGHTER ALL the bells of heaven may ring, Wind in warm, wan weather. One thing yet there is, that none, Soft and strong and loud and light, Seven Years Old 255 Very sound of very light, Heard from morning's rosiest height, Fills a child's clear laughter. Golden bells of welcome rolled Laughs a child of seven. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] SEVEN YEARS OLD SEVEN white roses on one tree, Seven white loaves of blameless leaven, Seven white sails on one soft sea, Seven white swans on one lake's lea, For a birthday's crown of seven. Not the radiance of the roses, Not the blessing of the bread, Not the breeze that ere day grows is Nothing sweeter, nothing best, Joy grows holy, grief takes rest, With most light and breath of pleasure; As the rapture unpolluted, As the passion undefiled, By whose force all pains heart-rooted Brown bright eyes and fair bright head, Sweet grave wise round mouth, full fed Little hands so glad of giving, Little heart so glad of love, Little soul so glad of living, While the strong swift hours are weaving Light with darkness woven above, Time for mirth and time for grieving, Plume of raven and plume of dove. I can give you but a word Yet by song so far from Heaven, Whence you came the brightest bird, Seven years since, of seven times seven. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] CREEP AFORE YE GANG CREEP awa', my bairnie, creep afore ye gang, |