Speak gently to the young,
For they will have enough to bear;
Pass through life as best they may,
'T is full of anxious care.
David Bates
APRIL FOURTEENTH
My Mother's voice! how often creeps
Its cadence on my lonely hours!
Like healing sent on wings of sleep,
Or dew to the unconscious flowers.
I can forget her melting prayer
While leaping pulses madly fly,
But in the still unbroken air
Her gentle tone comes stealing by,
And years and sin and manhood flee
And leave me at my mother's knee.
N. P. Willis
APRIL FIFTEENTH
And then her heart would warm with hope, perhaps,
of what might be to come, of the overwhelming
possibilities—how many of them, to her, lay in
the warm clasp of the child's hand that came pushing
into hers!
Anne Thackeray Ritchie
APRIL SIXTEENTH
The barb in the arrow of childhood's suffering is
this: its intense loneliness, its intense ignorance.
Olive Schreiner
APRIL SEVENTEENTH
Like happy children in their play,
Whose hearts run over into song.
Lowell
APRIL EIGHTEENTH