By the fireside there are old men seated, Asking sadly Of the Past what it can ne'er restore them. By the fireside there are youthful dreamers, Of the Future what it cannot give them. By the fireside tragedies are acted And above them God the sole spectator. By the fireside there are peace and comfort, Wives and children, with fair thoughtful faces, Waiting, watching, For a well-known footstep in the passage. GOLDEN POEMS PART I BY THE FIRESIDE LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT Ir's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, What's the world, my lass, my love! - what can it do? Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, JEAN INGELOW. ONLY A BABY SMALL ONLY a baby small, Dropt from the skies; Only a laughing face, Two sunny eyes; One chubby nose; Only a golden head, Curly and soft; Only a tongue that wags Only a little brain, Only a tender flower While we are here; Only a baby small, Never at rest; Small, but how dear to us, God knoweth best. MATTHIAS BARR. CRADLE SONG WHAT is the little one thinking about? Unfathomed mystery! Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks, And chuckles, and crows, and nods, and winks, As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx! Warped by colic, and wet by tears, Where the summers go; Who can tell what a baby thinks ? By which the manikin feels his way Into the light of day? Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, What does he think of his mother's eyes ? |