Thought wanders on to the nodding wheat, the rivers, cliffs, and islands, to the cities and the people everywhere for thousands of miles. What is the effect of this vastness on the thought of a child? Can you not realize for yourself any clear night that you may gaze at the numberless stars in the arching skies? How small, how infinitely little are we in all the great universe! Have we the imagination to grasp the saving thought that comes so naturally into the clear mind of the child? Though I am so small, so insignificant, I can think and love, but the wonderful earth can not. A philosophy well worth keeping, is it not? _Seven Times One_ (Volume II, page 119) Jean Ingelow's poem has in it many things to interest a child, but there may be some things that will be clearer for explanation. Stanza 1. In England the daisy grows wild almost everywhere, a little, low plant which produces its heads of white, pink-tipped flowers from a rosette of leaves. In the United States we often see daisies in cultivation but they are nowhere native. The child is at her seventh birthday and has learned her multiplication table, the "sevens". Nowadays in our schools the children do not have the drudgery of committing the long tables to memory as their grand-parents did. Our little friend thinks that as she has lived seven years that makes her "seven times one are seven." Stanza 2. One is so old at seven, so very old--why one can even write a letter. But now with the birthday lessons learned she can think of other things; for instance there are the lambs who play always, for they have no lessons to learn. They are not old and they are "only one times one," not "seven times one," which are seven. Stanza 3. She has seen the moon when it was full and bright and gave a wondrous light, but now it is only a pale crescent in the sky and its light is failing. Certainly the moon is failing and not like the child improving each day. Stanza 4. Occasionally the child has done wrong and been punished, and perhaps the moon has done something wrong way up there in heaven so that God has hidden its face. If that is true she hopes soon God will forgive the poor moon and allow it to shine once more with its silver light. Stanza 5. Isn't "velvet bee" a happy expression? Then the bee gathers the yellow pollen from the flowers, mixes and shapes it into little pellets and fastens them in golden balls on its thighs to carry into the hive where it will serve as "bee bread" to feed the young bees. In the wet places grow the marsh marigolds, or cowslips as they are sometimes called, bright golden flowers like the buttercups. To the bee and the cowslips the little child joyfully cries: "Give me your golden honey to hold, for I am seven years old and know what to do with it."