Shepherd of tender youth,

Guiding in love and truth,

Through devious ways;

Christ, our triumphant King,

We come Thy name to sing,

And here our children bring,

To shout Thy praise. -


"Suffer that little children come to Me,

Forbid them not." Emboldened by His words,

The mothers onward press; but, finding vain

The attempt to reach the Lord, they trust their babes

To strangers' hands; the innocents, alarmed

Amid the throng of faces all unknown,

Shrink, trembling, till their wandering eyes discern

The countenance of Jesus, beaming love

And pity; eager then they stretch their arms,

And, cowering, lay their heads upon His breast.

There was a time when we expected nothing of our children but obedience, as

opposed to the present, when we expect everything of them but obedience.

I would be the most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating

consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.

Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always

and forever explaining things to them.

Facing a mirror you see merely your own countenance; facing your child you finally understand how

everyone else has seen you.

Children might or might not be a blessing, but to create them and then fail them was surely

damnation.