She comes from Heaven, she dawns upon my sight,
O'er earth's dark scenes to pour her holy light!
In sense and blest the Infinite to see
And feel the heavenly mystery—To Be.
She comes—in Nature's tenderest, fondest name—
Daughter of God—'tis she—the same—the same
Mine is she too—my own—my latest child,
Myself, wrapt in Divinity, yet unbeguiled!
Blest Infant! God's and mine! yet to me given,
That I might feel anew my Being's Heaven—
In love and faith to urge my human way,
Till conscious time be lost in Immortality!
Love thee I will; for thou didst first love me—
My faith shall quicken as I dwell on thee,
Thy Spirit lift me from this "Grave of Things,"
And bear me homeward, to the King of Kings.
CHAPTER IV
The Alcott Baby Book
BRONSON ALCOTT wrote the first Baby Book, a book which throws new light on the character of the lovable philosopher, showing one of New England's intellectual leaders as a very human and lovable man as well as "a fond and foolish father."
His Baby Book, however, contains no minute record of the first tooth, or when the baby began to say "Goo" and "Pitty light"; rather it is the father's earnest effort to learn how early in life the infant mind begins to awaken, to indicate comprehension, thought, or logic. As Maeterlinck studied the bee, so Alcott studied his children, and his findings are a revelation, even to-day, when the study of the child has become a science.
Mr. Alcott considered vital the development of the child's individuality and mind; the body seemed to him of secondary importance, for this disregard of the material care of his family he has been severely censured; but, not recognizing in his own life the claims of the body, devoting all his energies to mental growth, it is not surprising that he found his fatherly duty in the guidance of his children's minds. His firm faith in the admonition, "Seek ye first the kingdom of heaven, and all these things shall be added unto you," was to him excuse enough for considering the intellect more than the body.
His practical shortcomings reaped a rich and unexpected reward in the next generation, for Louisa M. Alcott would probably not have developed her original and highly entertaining literary gift without the vicissitudes caused by her father's impractical nature and his sublime faith that at all times and in all emergencies the Lord would provide. He did provide; but Louisa was usually the channel, and many of her stories were written under the whip of stern necessity.
Doing without has its advantages. The Alcott children, never overfed, overentertained, overburdened to baby boredom with dolls and toys and games, developed appreciation, observation, and ingenuity. The creative faculty was aroused. They found resources within themselves. What a handbook Louisa might have written on How to be Happy though Poor!
Mrs. Alcott's keen sense of humor, a characteristic inherited by Louisa, often came to her rescue and allowed her to get fun out of a harassing situation. In a letter to her brother, Colonel May, praising her husband's intellect, she laughingly comments upon his disregard of physical necessities: "I am not sure that we shall not blush into obscurity and contemplate into starvation."