And the wildwood moss is growing About its dry leaf bed; And the vine of the forest swaying Its blossoms overhead. The mother roe comes often To nurse her baby deer; And she listens, listens, listens, Lest some bold foot come near. There she dreams with her baby, Till birds of the early dawn Wake the mother from slumber To nurse her dear little fawn. Who made the glad mother, Who made the wee fawn? Who made the bright birdies To sing at the dawn? The same Who made baby, The same Who made me; Who calls us and calls us His loved ones to be. OUR BABY What do you think that the kitty did When baby was two weeks old, And her eyes were dark, of a pansy blue, And her hair half brown, half gold? Kit put her paws on the baby’s feet, And looked into baby’s eyes; And baby looked into kitty’s face With a curious surprise. She thought that puss was a funny folk, Half black, and yellow half; With eyes of shining greenish gold; And it made the baby laugh. What do you think that the birdies said In the garden ’mong the trees, As they ate of the berries growing there, And sang in the summer breeze, And built their nests on the leafy boughs Where the baby’s eyes could see? They sang the words that the baby loved; “Twitter-dee, twitter-dee-dee-dee.” And what do you think that the baby did, When they gathered white sprays, shining, And made a hedge of the cradle side? A hedge with a white-star lining? Why, baby sat like a little queen, In the midst of the circling bower, And smiled as if it were Eden sweet, And she never crushed a flower! And what do you think that the bright stars did, As the baby peered through the curtain, And peered again with a longing look, To be sure they were shining, certain? The stars just twinkled and twinkled there, As they did to Eve’s own darlings, When their dimpled fingers pointed up To stars of the cloudless evenings. And how do you think that the baby looked, As we took her out at sunset, And set her down ’mong the tall ripe oats (’Twas before the earth was dew-wet), The baby looked at the golden oats Above and around her growing, And high up into God’s blue sky, As if somebody there were knowing All about what a place she found Where the nodding oats were playing, And she sweetly smiled in her mother’s face, As that mother’s heart was praying; Praying there for her darling one, That her little feet might never Turn aside from the path that leads Where Christ is the Joy forever. LILIES