CHILDHOOD—INFANCY.
Verily I say unto you, except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.—Matthew, xviii. 3.
Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in Heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in Heaven.—Matthew, xviii. 10.
Have ye never read, Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise?—Matthew, xxi. 16.
And they brought unto him also infants, that he would touch them: but when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them.
But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God.—Luke, xviii. 15, 16.
When little tripping children follow God,
And leave old doting sinners to his rod,
’Tis like those days wherein the young ones cried,
Hosanna! while the old ones did deride.
Bunyan.
At his first aptness the maternal love
Those rudiments of wisdom did improve;
The tender age was pliant to command;
Like wax it yielded to the forming hand:
True to the artificer, the laboured mind
With ease was pious, generous, just, and kind;
Soft for impression, from the first prepared,
Till virtue, with long exercise, grew hard;
With every act confirmed and made at last,
So durable as not to be effaced,
It turned to habit; and from vices free,
Goodness resolved into necessity.
Dryden.
The child between her parents knelt,
Who prayed the more to God above,
Because so close to them they felt
The dearest gift of Heavenly love.
*****
To her new beauty largely given
From deeper fountains, looked and smiled,
And, like a morning dream from heaven,
The woman gleamed within the child.
John Sterling.
O! how I love the prattling of that child,
Frisking so blithely in its nurse’s hand!
Fair as her face who first in Eden smiled,
Ere blissful innocence had left the land!
Thy dimpled cheeks remind me of a time,
When first I ventured on life’s thorny way!
May no false joys consume thy early prime,
No friend mislead thee, and no friend betray;
Thy bark, like mine, is on a rocky sea;
For life’s a voyage far from shore to shore,
No resting-place, unless thine anchor be
The hope of glory when the course is o’er;
Blest hope for thee, just entering into bloom,
Thrice blessed hope for me just hast’ning to the tomb.
J. Mayne.
“Suffer these little ones to come to me,”
Was the command of Him who, on the cross,
Bowed His anointed head, and with His blood
Purchased redemption for our fallen race—
And blessed they, who to that holy task
Devote the energies of their young years,
Teaching, with pious care, the dawning light
Of infant intellect to know the Lord.
C. Huntingdon.
The life that makes the heart to beat,
The light that from the heavens doth shine,
My daily strength,—the bread I eat,—
All, all, great Lord of Life, are thine.
Then let me seek Thee daily, Lord,
At morn, at noontide, and at even;
And do Thy will, and know Thy word,
That I may be Thy child in heaven!
W. Martin.
I remember, I remember,
The fir-trees dark and high,
I used to think their tiny tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now ’tis little joy,
To know I’m farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy!
T. Hood.
Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace
The innocent brightness of an infant’s face;
He raised them in His holy arms;
He blessed them from the world and all its harms:
Heirs though they were of sin and shame,
He blessed them in His own, and in His Father’s Name.
Keble.
Christian! thy dream is now—it was not then:
O, it were strange if childhood were a dream.
Strife, and the world, are dreams: to wakeful men
Childhood and home as jealous angels seem:
Like shapes and hues that play in clouds at even,
They have but shifted from Thee into Heaven!
F. W. Faber.
Something divine about an Infant seems
To them, who watch it in that holy light
Of meaning, caught from these celestial words
Of Christ—“Forbid them not, but let them come.”
Fresh buds of being! beautiful as frail.
Types of that kingdom which our souls profess
To enter! Symbols of that docile love
And meek compliancy of creed and mind,
Which Heaven hath canonized, and for its own
Acknowledged,—well may thoughtful hearts perceive
A mystery, beyond mere nature’s law,
Around them girdled like a moral zone.
R. Montgomery.
Death found strange beauty on that polished brow,
And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose
On cheek and lip. He touched the veins with ice,
And the rose faded. Forth from those blue eyes
There spake a wishful tenderness—a doubt
Whether to grieve or sleep—which innocence
Alone may wear. With ruthless hand he bound
The silken fringes of those curtaining lids
For ever. There had been a murmuring sound
With which the babe would claim its mother’s ear,
Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set
The seal of silence. But there beamed a smile
So fixed, so holy, from that cherub brow,
Death gazed, and left it there. He dared not steal
The signet-ring of heaven.
L. H. Sigourney.
Child, there is One, the High above all Height,
Who doth not scorn thee—
Ever, from Him, may beams of Heavenly light
Comfort—but warn thee—
That from youth’s innocence each proud removal
Is a departure from His best approval.
H. H. Weld.
The Lord of Heaven, who, from his throne above,
Governs the universe, yet deigns to hear
The praise which from the mouths of sucklings flows,
And from the lisping babe ordaineth strength.
C. P. Layard.
There are smiles and tears in the mother’s eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies.
O, hour of bliss! when the heart o’erflows
With rapture a mother only knows.
Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
Let it swell up to heaven for her precious care.
Henry Ware, Jun.
How soft and fresh he breathes!
Look, he is dreaming! Visions sure of joy
Are gladdening his rest; and ah, who knows
But waiting angels do converse in sleep
With babes like this!
Arthur C. Coxe.
Little children, not alone
On the wide earth are ye thrown,
’Mid its labour and its cares;
’Mid its sufferings and its snares,
Free from sorrow, free from strife,
In the world of love and life,
Where no sinful thing has trod
In the presence of our God!
Spotless, blameless, glorified,
Little children, ye abide!
Mary Howitt.
How oft, heart-sick and sore,
I’ve wished I were, once more,
A little child!
Mrs. Southey.