There are griefs to meet and cares to face Through the years that lie ahead; The proudest monarch must lose his place And lie with the splendid dead; I know there are blows I shall have to meet, I must pay with the bitter for all life's sweet, But I live in dread of that coming day When forever the high chair goes away. _Whooping Cough_ There is a reason, I suppose, for everything which comes-- Why youngsters fall from apple trees and babies suck their thumbs; And though I can't explain it all, when trouble comes I know That since by Providence 'tis willed, it must be wiser so. But knowing this, I still insist we'd all be better off If little children could escape the dreaded whooping cough. I never see a red-faced child in spasms violent But what I wonder why to babes such suffering is sent. Though mumps and measles, chicken pox and scarlet fever, too, Beset the lives of those I love, I still can see them through; But terror seems to chill my blood the minute that I hear That awful sign that someone's child with whooping cough is near. Old women say it has to be, but I grow pale as death When I behold a boy or girl in anguish fight for breath. They tell me not to be alarmed, but I'm not made of steel, And every touch of agony the youngster has, I feel; And could I run this world of ours, the first thing I'd cut off From all the things which have to be, would be the whooping cough. _Over the Crib_ Over the crib where the baby lies, Countless beautiful visions rise Which only the mothers and fathers see, Pictures of laughter and joy and song As the years come sweeping us all along. Care seldom startles the happy eyes Over the crib where the baby lies. A wonderful baby lying there! And strangers smile at the happy pair, Proud and boastful, for all they see Is the dimpled chin and the dimpled knee; But never a little one comes to earth That isn't a wonderful babe at birth, And never a mother who doesn't see Glorious visions of joy to be. Over the crib where the baby lies, Dreams of splendor and pride arise, Deeds of valor and deeds of love Hover about and shine above The tiny form, and the future glows With a thousand dreams which the mother knows, And beauty dances before her eyes Over the crib where the baby lies. Yet we smile at her and we smile at him, For we are old and our eyes are dim And we have forgotten and don't recall Yet world-wide over the mothers dream The visions we saw when our babes were small, And ever they see in a golden stream, Wonderful joys in the by-and-by Over the cribs where their babies lie. _Grass and Children_