Oh! always give to the baby’s mouth The things God made for food; The precious milk or the grape’s fresh juice, Things that the Lord calls “good.” Blind Folly searched through the east and west, Aye, searched from north to south, To find great drugs of healing power To put in the baby’s mouth. But they searched in vain! and day and night, Like flocks of birds, towards Heaven The babies went, for they could not stay Where the cruel drugs were given. And never put to the baby’s lips The food for the stronger made; Or you may weep with a broken heart By its cold bed in the glade. Feed it food for the babies made, And dress it warm and clean; Give it the purest air to breathe, And the sunlight’s golden sheen. Like the lilies fair, like the sweet June rose Then shall the baby grow; And the smile of Heaven like a halo rest On the angel lent below. Give it the love of a holy heart That plans for the life beyond; That mingles prayer with the daily work, And song with caresses fond; That sweet, glad song that forever lies In the heart as the years sweep on; And tells of the love God has for us, In the gift of His only Son. BABY’S BATH If you’ve got it right, there’s a smile on his lips— That water must cover his fat little hips, Coming quite up to his waist. Don’t make him laugh! he will splash if you do, And learn naughty ways, and be troublesome too; Be quiet; don’t be in haste! But if you would be sure Of the temperature, Put your own elbow into the bath. THE FARMER’S CRADLE SONG Come, little rain-drops, patter on the corn; Come, little sunbeams, bright in rosy morn; Shine on the wheat-fields, make them golden-sweet, Ready for the brown bread, baby wants to eat. Come, little dew-drops, make the apples grow, Bellflower and russet, bright with sunset glow. Come, cloud and sunshine, make the rainbow bright, While the grapes’ sweet clusters laugh in delight. O, blessed Father, give enough for all! Bread for the millions, little folks and tall; Fruits for the wide world, bringing hope and health, Milk and golden butter; ’tis the farmer’s wealth. Oh! blessed Saviour, with the bounty sweet Make the people praise Thee when they come to eat. May the little children lisp a loving prayer For the countless blessings, and Thy tender care. When sweet Hosannas by all cradles rise, When love of Jesus shines from children’s eyes; Then earth and Heaven in one glad song will sing, “In the highest, Glory to our Saviour King!” THE LITTLE FAWN There in the summer woodland, Down in the quiet glade, Hid in a leafy thicket, Is a little fawn in the shade.