Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
Essay on Man, Epistle II. A. POPE.
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candlelight,
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
Bed in Summer. R.L. STEVENSON.
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
To a Butterfly. W. WORDSWORTH.
When they are young, they
Are like bells rung backwards, nothing but noise
And giddiness.
Wit without Money. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
A truthful page is childhood's lovely face,
Whereon sweet Innocence has record made,—
An outward semblance of the young heart's grace,
Where truth, and love, and trust are all portrayed.
On a Picture of Lillie. B.P. SHILLABER.
And the King with his golden sceptre,
The Pope with Saint Peter's key,
Can never unlock the one little heart
That is opened only to me.
For I am the Lord of a Realm,
And I am Pope of a See;
Indeed I'm supreme in the kingdom
That is sitting, just now, on my knee.
The King and The Pope. C.H. WEBB.
Now I lay me down to take my sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep:
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
New England Primer.
And children know,
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe.
Lady of the Lake, Canto II. SIR W. SCOTT.
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
To a Butterfly. W. WORDSWORTH.
Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water!
Ye happy mixtures of more happy days!
Beppo. LORD BYRON.