I’m only a little baby,
But I know my resting place;
I know the smile that greets me
On one true loving face.
I know the voice that whispers,
Sweet words to sooth and cheer;
I know to whom I’m precious,
I know to whom I’m dear.
I’m only a little baby,
But I feel encircling arms
Are folded all around me,
To shield me from alarms.
I sometimes sleep — not always,
And then I fail to see,
The anxious eyes still watching,
In tenderest gaze o’er me.
I’m fail to hear the whisper,
And do not understand,
The smile or tone or movement,
Or pressure of the hand.
Still I am resting safely,
Because the hand is there;
Because the love that guides it,
Is love I freely share.
I cannot speak a sentence,
But I can shout and cry,
To One who ever listens,
And does my need supply
A stranger would not notice
That I said a word at all;
But I cheer the heart that owns me,
When one dear name I call.
In baby language lisping,
I’m always understood,
And thus I please my parent,
And that is surely good.
I’m only a little baby,
And I have such baby ways,
That with bright toys that harm me,
My little nature plays.
And then the hand that holds me,
Is sure to interfere,
And snatch away the poison,
Which seems at first severe.
But soon I know the secret,
And raise my drooping head,
To find around me scattered,
Far brighter gifts instead.
The hand is giving to me
Good things that please me so,
That when I see their beauty
I let the bad things go.
I’m only a little baby,
As weak as weak can be;
But I just lean on the bosom,
That’s all in all to me.
ANNA McCOURT