The prattle of a babe, and love—these are the vanished joys we miss.

[Pg 46]

[Pg 46]

LITTLE FEET

There is no music quite so sweet

As patter of a baby's feet.

Who never hears along the hall

The sound of tiny feet that fall

Upon the floor so soft and low

As eagerly they come or go,

Has missed, no matter who he be,

Life's most inspiring symphony.

There is a music of the spheres

Too fine to ring in mortal ears,

Yet not more delicate and sweet

Than pattering of baby feet;

Where'er I hear that pit-a-pat

Which falls upon the velvet mat,

Out of my dreamy nap I start

And hear the echo in my heart.

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