"Mother," asked a child, "since nothing is ever
lost, where do all our thoughts go?"
"To God," answered the mother, "who remembers
them forever."
"Forever!" said the child. He bent his head and,
drawing closer to his mother, murmured, "I am
frightened!"
Which of us has not felt the same?
Selected
DECEMBER SEVENTH
Happy little children, seek your shady places,
Lark songs in their bosoms, sunshine in their faces.
Lucy Larcom
DECEMBER EIGHTH
The mother, with anticipated glee,
Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair,
And flattening its round cheek upon her knee,
Looks up and doth its rosy lips prepare
To mock the coming sounds: at the sweet sight
She hears her own voice with new delight.
S. T. Coleridge
DECEMBER NINTH
A babe, in lineament and limb
Perfect, and prophet of the perfect man.
Tennyson
DECEMBER TENTH
In the children lies the seed-corn of the future.
Froebel
DECEMBER ELEVENTH