AUGUST SEVENTH
Whither went the lovely hoyden?
Disappeared in blessed wife,
Servant to a wooden cradle,
Living in a baby's life.
Emerson
AUGUST EIGHTH
And yet methinks she looks so calm and good,
God must be with her in her solitude.
Hartley Coleridge
AUGUST NINTH
Childish unconsciousness is rest in God.
Froebel
AUGUST TENTH
The seasons of the year did swiftly whirl,
They measured time by one small life alone.
Jean Ingelow
AUGUST ELEVENTH
Oh, my own baby on my knee,
My leaping, dimpled treasure.
Mrs. Browning