Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1900-03-15

riOu my nedTt L give tnee JOY
Ere it passes, barefoot boy.
Longfellow drew much poetic in
spiration from child life. The Chill
dren's Hour describes his own home in
the evening, when his three little
daughters came to romp with him.
when
Between the dark and the daylight.
When the night is beginning to
lower,
Comes pause in the days occupations
That is known as the children's hour.
Then follows a striking picture of
childish happiness and fatherly affec-
ton
Then there is the beautiful, pathetic
poem entitled WEAKNESS, beginning
thus:
Oh, little feet, that such long years
Must wander on through hopes and
fears,
Must ache and bleed beneath your load !:
!, nearer to the wayside inn,
Where toll shall cease and rest begin.
Am weary, thinking OF your load.
On, little hands, that weak or strong.
Have still to serve or rule so long,
Have still so long to give or ask:
/, who so much with book and pen
Have toiled among my fellow men,
Am weary, thinking of your task
From My Old Armchair was the re-
spouse to the children of Cambridge,
when they presented him with a chair
made from the wood of the spreading
chestnut tree" celebrated in The VIII
lage Blacksmith.
Adeline d. T. Whitney has voiced the
heart cry of many mother for her lit
tie ones who have gone-not the dead
only, but grown up and gone away.
Read the opening -stanzas of Their
Angels
My heart is as lonely as heart can be.
And the cry of Rachel goes up from ME,
For the tender faces, unforgot.
Of the little children that are not:
Although | know
They are all in the land where j shall
go.
Only one died. There is one small
mound
Violet heaped in the sweet grave
ground;
twenty years they have bloomed and
spread
over the little baby head:
She is safe in the land where | shall 90
My bright, brave boy is a grave-eyed
man,
Facing the world as a worker can:
But | think of him now as | had him
then,
And | lay his cheek to my heart again:
And so ! know
shall have him there where we both
shall CO.
The world is troublous and hard and
cold,
And men and women grow gray and
old;
But behind the world is an inner place
Where yet their angels behold his
face;
And, 10. we know
That only the children can see him so.
Helen Hunt Jackson has sweetly
sung to us of the Little Kings and
Queens.
Monarchs whose kingdom no man
bounds,
Oh, blessed little kings and queens,
The only sovereigns in the earth,
Their sovereignty nor rests nor leans
On pomp OF riches or of birth.
OF course nearly every one has read
Charles Dickens beautiful poem, The
Children, picture of his love for his
young pupils in the days when he was
tutor in boys school The man who
wrote Of Little Nell could write only
the tenderest of verses to his departing
child friends. What can be more
fraught with touching sentiment. than
the last stanZa?
| shall miss them at noon and at even.
ing,
Their song in the school and tine
/ street;
/ shall miss the low hum of their
voices,
And the tramp Of their delicate feet
When the lessons and tasks are all
ended
And Death says, The school is dis
missed"
May the little one gather around me.
To bid me goodnight and be kissed
Frank l. Stanton is another poet who
loves to sing Of children and to them