I
I take my pencil (at 86 years of age) to describe the first moment of my life that I remember. Clara Barton—In The Story of My Childhood.
Do not sin against the child. Genesis.
The fir trees dark and high,
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
Hood—I remember, I remember.
The rude wooden cradle in which Clara Barton was rocked is now one of the very interesting curios in possession of the Worcester (Mass.) Historical Society. The Author.
The child’s grief throbs against the round of its little heart as heavily as the man’s sorrow. Chapin.
Baby lips will laugh me down. Tennyson.
A child’s sob curseth deeper in the silence
Than the strong man in his wrath.
E. B. Browning.
Dispel not the happy delusions of children. Goethe.
Happy child! The cradle is to thee a vast space.
Schiller.
Who can foretell for what high cause
This destiny of the gods was born.
Andrew Marvell.