The March Of The Children.

[From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.]

[The March Of The Children.]



        List to the sound of the drumming!
        Gaily the children are coming;
        Sweet as the smile of a fairy,
        Fresh as the blossoms they carry.
        Pride of the parents who love them,
        Pure as the azure above them,
        Free as the winds that caress them,
        Bright as the sunbeams that bless them.



        List to the voice-echoes ringing!
        Sweeter than birds they are singing;
        Thoughts that to virtue invite them,
        Wed unto airs that delight them.
        Truths that their future will cherish,
        Soul-planted, never to perish!
        Only to senses completer,
        Heaven's choicest music were sweeter!

        Virtue, unconscious and pretty,
        Walks through the streets of the city;
        See the gay bannerets flying,
        Mottoes and titles undying;
        Truths dearly hallowed and olden,
        Braided in strands that are golden;
        Words for the spirit's desiring,
        Sentences sweetly inspiring!

            *            *            *            *            *

        When, in a voice of caressing,
        Christ gave the children His blessing,
        'Twas not for one generation -
        But for each epoch and nation.
        So through the present it lingers,
        Shed from His bountiful fingers;
        So unto these it is given -
        Types of the angels in Heaven.

William McKendree Carleton

William McKendree Carleton, commonly known as Will Carleton, was an American poet from Michigan. He gained significant recognition for his work that depicted rural life, with some of his most famous pieces including 'Over the Hill to the Poorhouse' and 'Betsy and I Are Out'. His writings often focused on social issues and the hardships faced by ordinary people. Carleton's style was straightforward, and he was well-known for his ability to capture the essence of American rural life in the 19th century.

William McKendree Carleton

Farmer Stebbins On Rollers.

William McKendree Carleton, Simple Poetry

Death-Doomed.

William McKendree Carleton, Simple Poetry

Farmer Stebbins At Ocean Grove.

William McKendree Carleton, Simple Poetry

The House Where We Were Wed.

William McKendree Carleton, Simple Poetry

English

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Children

Come to me, O ye children!
    For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
    Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows,
    That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
    And the brooks of morning run.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
    In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
    And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us
    If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
    Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,
    With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
    Have been hardened into wood,--

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The Book Of Joyous Children

Bound and bordered in leaf-green,
    Edged with trellised buds and flowers
And glad Summer-gold, with clean
    White and purple morning-glories
    Such as suit the songs and stories
    Of this book of ours,
Unrevised in text or scene, -
        The Book of Joyous Children.

Wild and breathless in their glee -
    Lawless rangers of all ways
Winding through lush greenery
    Of Elysian vales - the viny,
    Bowery groves of shady, shiny
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Spread and read again with me
        The Book of Joyous Children.

What a whir of wings, and what
    Sudden drench of dews upon
The young brows, wreathed, all unsought,
    With the apple-blossom garlands
    Of the poets of those far lands
    Whence all drea...

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Good-Children Street

There's a dear little home in Good-Children street -
My heart turneth fondly to-day
Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet
Make sweetest of music at play;
Where the sunshine of love illumines each face
And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.

For dear little children go romping about
With dollies and tin tops and drums,
And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout
Till bedtime too speedily comes!
Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet
With little folk living in Good-Children street.

See, here comes an army with guns painted red,
And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts;
The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead
On a stick-horse that prances and snorts!
Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet -
Nice make-believ...

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Dandelions.

Welcome children of the Spring,
    In your garbs of green and gold,
Lifting up your sun-crowned heads
    On the verdant plain and wold.

As a bright and joyous troop
    From the breast of earth ye came
Fair and lovely are your cheeks,
    With sun-kisses all aflame.

In the dusty streets and lanes,
    Where the lowly children play,
There as gentle friends ye smile,
    Making brighter life's highway

Dewdrops and the morning sun,
    Weave your garments fair and bright,
And we welcome you to-day
    As the children of the light.

Children of the earth and sun.
    We are slow to understand
All the richness of the gifts
    Flowing from our Father's hand.


Were our vision clearer far,
    In this sin-d...

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Child-Songs

Still linger in our noon of time
And on our Saxon tongue
The echoes of the home-born hymns
The Aryan mothers sung.

And childhood had its litanies
In every age and clime;
The earliest cradles of the race
Were rocked to poet's rhyme.

Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower,
Nor green earth's virgin sod,
So moved the singer's heart of old
As these small ones of God.

The mystery of unfolding life
Was more than dawning morn,
Than opening flower or crescent moon
The human soul new-born.

And still to childhood's sweet appeal
The heart of genius turns,
And more than all the sages teach
From lisping voices learns,

The voices loved of him who sang,
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Lessons For A Child.

I.

There breathes not a breath of the morning air,
But the spirit of Love is moving there;
Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree
Mingles with thousands in harmony;
But the Spirit of God doth make the sound,
And the thoughts of the insect that creepeth around.
And the sunshiny butterflies come and go,
Like beautiful thoughts moving to and fro;
And not a wave of their busy wings
Is unknown to the Spirit that moveth all things.
And the long-mantled moths, that sleep at noon,
And dance in the light of the mystic moon--
All have one being that loves them all;
Not a fly in the spider's web can fall,
But He cares for the spider, and cares for the fly;
And He cares for each little child's smile or sigh.
How it can be, I cannot know;
He is wiser than...

George MacDonald