AUGUST SECOND
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
Shakespeare
AUGUST THIRD
But surely, the just sky will never wink
At men who take delight in childish throe,
And stripe the nether urchin like a pink.
Hood
AUGUST FOURTH
Happy he!
With such a mother, faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
Comes easy to him.
Tennyson
AUGUST FIFTH
I have not so far left the coasts of life
To travel inland, that I cannot hear
That murmur of the outer Infinite
Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep,
When wondered at for smiling.
Mrs. Browning
AUGUST SIXTH
In rearing a child think of its old age.
Joubert