The Baby

1. Our Baby
   Poet: Catherine Pulsifer, ©2021
   
   Ten little fingers, ten little toes
   Beautiful eyes, and a button nose.
   We couldn't wait to meet you
   We started lovin' you, that's true.
   
   Know that you have arrived
   The house is  truly a beehive
   We are so happy you're here
   You fill us with so much cheer.
   
   We do believe you are a miracle
   You are part of our family circle
   We do also believe that God above
   Sent us you with so much love.
   
   We will always love you
   We know that's true
   We will guide you through the years
   Through happy times and the tears.
   
   As parents, you will learn
   We will work hard to earn
   A good life we will try to provide
   We pray with God on our side.
   
   So our dear precious baby we love you so
   A love so deep we pray we show
   How special you are to us
   Even when you cry and fuss!
   
   We know how fast you will grow
   Time will not slow
   But as the years do pass
   Our love for you will always last!
   




2. Sleep, Baby, Sleep
   Poet: Lincoln Hulley
   
   The winds are murmuring in the pines.
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   Their music lulls wiith the lazy lines,
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   O winds, blow soft, and winds, blow slow!
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   And ever their whispering voices go.
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   
   Oh, shrill and clear is the cricket's call!
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   Repeating it over and over to all.
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   The lights are lit when the sun goes down,
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   And slumber comes to the drowsy town,
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   
   Hushed are the winds in the murmuring pines,
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   And hushed the lilt of the lazy lines.
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   Quenched are the lights in the sleepy town,
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   But sentinel stars are gazing down.
   Sleep, baby, sleep.
   




3. Infancy
   Poet: Lincoln Hulley
   
   'There's a touch of Heaven in his bright blue eyes.
   And his hair is tanned by the sun,
   There's the color of rose in his dainty cheeks,
   And his teeth are pearls each one.
   
   There's a tender grace in his lips' red lines,
   And a subtle tone in his voice,
   There's a gentle charm in his childlike smile,
   And it makes our hearts rejoice.
   
   There's a dimple sweet on his tiny chin,
   And a cunning shape to his nose,
   There's a graceful curve to his rounded throat
   And his flesh has the tint of the rose,
   
   While a soul looks out of his sweet young face
   With an infinite mystery
   That eludes my own when I try to peer
   To the depths of his infancy.
   




4. Getting Up
   Poet: Jane Taylor
   
   Baby, baby, open your eye,
   For the sun is in the sky.
   And he's peeping once again
   Through the frosty window pane;
   Little baby, do not keep
   Any longer fast asleep.
   
   There, now, sit in mother's lap.
   That she may untie your cap,
   For the little strings have got
   Twisted into such a knot;
   Ah! for shame, - you've been at play
   With the bobbin, as you lay.
   
   There it comes, - now let me see
   Where your petticoats can be;
   Oh, - they're in the window seat,
   Folded very smooth and neat:
   When my baby older grows
   She shall double up her clothes.
   
   Now one pretty little kiss,
   For dressing you as neat as this,
   And before we go downstairs.
   Don't forget to say your pray'rs,
   For 'tis God who loves to keep
   Little babies in their sleep.




5. Riches
   Poet: E. A. Brininstool
   
   The man across the street from me
   Is rich in silver, gold, and lands;
   And in his stately mansion he
   Has servants who await commands.
   And yet, though affluence is there,
   He's poorer far than I, I ween;
   No childish laughter fills the air
   And echoes sweet across the green.
   
   The man across the street from me
   Owns spacious stores and business blocks;
   He hurries cityward to see
   The rise or fall of bonds and stocks;
   But as he leaves his door each day,
   No baby face lies against his cheek;
   No wee, sweet lips are raised to say
   The lisping words that they would speak.
   
   The man across the street from me
   Comes home perplexed with business cares;
   From worry he is never free,
   Arranging his immense affairs;
   And as he sits him down each night,
   No baby fingers smooth his face;
   He does not know the fond delight
   Of a wee little one's embrace.
   
   The man across the street from me
   Came over where I stood one day,
   And paused awhile where he could see
   My laughing little one at play;
   And once I thought I saw a tear
   Steal down his cheek; I heard him sigh,
   And then he murmured in my ear,
   "Ah, but you're richer far than I."
   
   O busy man across the way,
   Harassed by doubts and cares and fears,
   You're piling wealth up day by day
   To last you through the coming years;
   But when I look across the street,
   I envy not your gold nor lands;
   My wealth lies in the tender, sweet,
   Glad clasp of dimpled baby hands.