MAY EIGHTH
The babe by its mother
Lies bathed in joy,
Glide its hours uncounted,
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all its being,
Without cloud, in its eyes,
And the sun of the world
In soft miniature lies.
Emerson
MAY NINTH
In those days life was a simple matter to the
children; their days and their legs lengthened together.
Anne Thackeray Ritchie
MAY TENTH
Timely blossom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn and every night
Their solicitous delight,
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleasing without skill to please.
Ambrose Phillips
MAY ELEVENTH
Then the face of a mother looks back, through the mist
Of the tears that are welling; and, lucent with light,
I see the dear smile of the lips I have kissed
As she knelt by my cradle at morning and night;
And my arms are outheld with a yearning too wild
For any but God in His love to inspire,
As she pleads at the foot of His throne for her child—
As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire.
James Whitcomb Riley
From "Rhymes of Childhood." Copyright, 1890-1898. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merritt Company.
MAY TWELFTH