In My Nursery. Richards Laura Elizabeth Howe

it always be ready for labor,

      Yet always gentle and light?

      Will it wield the brush or the chisel

      In the magical realms of Art?

      Will it waken the loveliest music

      To gladden the weary heart?

      Will it smooth the sufferer's pillow,

      Bring rest to his aching head?

      Will it proffer the cup of cold water?

      By it shall the hungry be fed?

      Oh! in the years that are coming,

      Be they many or be they few,

      What now is the good God sending

      For this little hand to do?"

      Thus the mother's anxious vision

      Strives to pierce each coming year,

      With a mother's height of rapture,

      With a mother's depth of fear.

      Ah! whatever may be its fortunes,

      Whatever in life its part,

      This little wee hand will never loose

      Its hold on the mother's heart.

      THE FIRST TOOTH

      My own little beautiful Baby,

      You're weeping most bitterly, dear!

      There'd soon be a lake, if we treasured

      Each sweet little silvery tear.

      A lake? Nay! an ocean of sorrow

      Would murmur and sigh at your feet,

      And you would be drowned in your tear-drops,

      My own little Baby sweet.

      But, darling, as in the wide ocean

      The divers plunge boldly down,

      And bring up the radiant pearl-drops

      To set in some royal crown,

      E'en so from the sea of your sorrow,

      This dolorous "fountain of youth,"

      Will come, ere a week be over,

      A little wee pearly tooth.

      And then the tears will all vanish,

      Dried up by the sunshine of smiles;

      And we'll have back our own little Alice,

      With her merriest frolics and wiles.

      And whenever you laugh, my Baby,

      Through all your life's happy years,

      You'll show us the radiant pearl-drop

      That you brought from the ocean of tears.

      JOHNNY'S BY-LOW SONG

      Here on our rock-away horse we go,

      Johnny and I, to a land we know, —

      Far away in the sunset gold,

      A lovelier land than can be told.

      Chorus. Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,

      Nod, nod, niddlety nod!

      Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,

      And all the birds sing by-low!

      Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.

      The gates are ivory set with pearls,

      One for the boys, and one for the girls:

      So shut your bonny two eyes of blue,

      Or else they never will let you through.

      Chorus. Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,

      Nod, nod, niddlety nod!

      Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,

      And all the birds sing by-low!

      Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.

      But what are the children all about?

      There's never a laugh and never a shout.

      Why, they all fell asleep, dear, long ago;

      For how could they keep awake, you know?

      Chorus. When all the flowers went niddlety nod,

      Nod, nod, niddlety nod!

      When all the flowers went niddlety nod,

      And all the birds sang by-low!

      Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.

      And each little brown or golden head

      Is pillowed soft in a satin bed, —

      A satin bed with sheets of silk,

      As soft as down and as white as milk.

      Chorus. And all the flowers go niddlety nod,

      Nod, nod, niddlety nod!

      And all the flowers go niddlety nod,

      And all the birds sing by-low!

      Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.

      The brook in its sleep goes babbling by,

      And the fat little clouds are asleep in the sky;

      And now little Johnny is sleeping too,

      So open the gates and pass him through.

      Chorus. Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,

      Nod, nod, niddlety nod!

      Where all the flowers go niddlety nod,

      And all the birds sing by-low!

      Lullaby, lullaby, by-low.

      BABY'S VALENTINE

      Valentine, O Valentine,

      Pretty little Love of mine;

      Little Love whose yellow hair

      Makes the daffodils despair;

      Little Love whose shining eyes

      Fill the stars with sad surprise:

      Hither turn your ten wee toes,

      Each a tiny shut-up rose,

      End most fitting and complete

      For the rosy-pinky feet;

      Toddle, toddle here to me,

      For I'm waiting, do you see? —

      Waiting for to call you mine,

      Valentine, O Valentine!

      Valentine, O Valentine,

      I will dress you up so fine!

      Here's a frock of tulip-leaves,

      Trimmed with lace the spider weaves;

      Here's a cap of larkspur blue,

      Just precisely made for you;

      Here's a mantle scarlet-dyed,

      Once the tiger-lily's pride,

      Spotted all with velvet black

      Like the fire-beetle's back;

      Lady-slippers on your feet,

      Now behold you all complete!

      Come and let me call you mine,

      Valentine, O Valentine!

      Valentine, O Valentine,

      Now a wreath for you I'll twine.

      I will set you on a throne

      Where the damask rose has blown,

      Dropping all her velvet bloom,

      Carpeting