One step and then another,
And the longest walk is ended;
One stitch, and then another,
And the largest rent is mended;
One brick upon another,
And the highest wall is made;
One flake upon another,
And the deepest snow is laid.
Then do not look disheartened
O'er the work you have to do,
And say that such a mighty task
You never can get through;
But just endeavor, day by day,
Another point to gain,
And soon the mountain which you feared
Will prove to be a plain.
Come to me, O ye children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.
Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
And the brooks of morning run.
In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
And the first fall of the snow.
Ah, what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.
What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood,-
That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.
Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.
For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.
A pretty little cloud away up in the sky,
Said it did not care if the earth was dry;
'Twas having such a nice time sailing all around,
It would n't, no, it would n't tumble on the ground,
So the pretty little lilies hung their aching heads,
And the golden pansies cuddled in their beds;
The cherries couldn't grow a bit, you would have pitied them;
They'd hardly strength to hold to the little slender stem.
By and by the little cloud felt a dreadful shock,
Just as does a boat when it hits upon a rock.
Something ran all through it, burning like a flame,
And the little cloud began to cry as down to earth it came.
Then old Grandpa Thunder, as he growled away,
Said, "I thought I'd make you mind 'fore another day;
Little clouds were meant to fall when the earth is dry,
And not go sailing round away up in the sky."
And old Grandma Lightning, flitting to and fro,
Said,
What were you made for, I would like to know,
That you spend your precious time sailing all around,
When you know you ought to be buried in the ground."
Then lilies dear, and pansies, all began to bloom,
And the cherries grew and grew till they took up all the room. Then by and by the little cloud, with all its duty done,
Was caught up by a rainbow and allowed a little fun.
Sweet baby, sleep! what ails my dear?
What ails my darling, thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear,
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.
Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear;
For whosoever thee offends
By thy protector threatened are,
And God and Angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes he took delight;
Such innocence as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in His sight.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
What are you good for, my brave little man?
Answer that question for me, if you can,-
You, with your fingers as white as a nun,-
You, with your ringlets as bright as the sun.
All the day long, with your busy contriving,
Into all mischief and fun you are driving;
See if your wise little noddle can tell
What you are good for. Now ponder it well."
Over the carpet the dear little feet
Came with a patter to climb on my seat;
Two merry eyes, full of frolic and glee,
Under their lashes looked up unto me;
Two little hands, pressing soft on my face,
Drew me down close in a loving embrace;
Two rosy lips gave the answer so true,
Good to love you, mamma,-good to love you."
-Emily Huntington Miller.
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