And there in the Valley of Babyland,
Under the mosses and leaves and ferns,
Like an unfledged starling, they find the darling,
For whom the heart of a mother yearns;
And they lift him lightly, and snug him tightly
In feathers soft as a lady’s hand;
And off with a rockaway step they walk away
Out of Babyland.
As they go from the Valley of Babyland,
Forth into the world of great unrest,
Sometimes in weeping, he wakes from sleeping
Before he reaches the mother’s breast.
Ah, how she blesses him, how she caresses him,
Bonniest bird in the bright home band
That o’er land and water, the kind stork brought her
From far off Babyland.
A FACE.
BETWEEN the curtains of snowy lace,
Over the way is a baby’s face;
It peeps forth, smiling in merry glee,
And waves its pink little hand at me.
My heart responds with a lonely cry—
But in the wonderful By-and-By—
Out from the window of God’s “To Be,”
That other baby shall beckon to me.
That ever haunting and longed-for face,
That perfect vision of infant grace,
Shall shine on me in a splendor of light,
Never to fade from my eager sight.
All that was taken shall be made good;
All that puzzles me understood;
And the wee white hand that I lost, one day,
Shall lead me into the Better Way.