BABY.

BY K. M. M.

What are you looking at, Baby dear, With your wide-open serious eyes, That were made from the depths of heaven's own blue, Stolen away from the skies? What do you think of this great wide world That you gaze on with such surprise? I should like to know, if you only could tell, You look so grave and so wise. The professor himself, who has studied for years, Has not half so sage an air As this baby of ours when he sits all alone In the lap of the great arm-chair. And what are you talking of, all by yourself, In those words which none of us know?— We forget so soon the language of heaven, In this work-a-day world below. But teach us those accents strange and sweet That you've learned from the angels above, For we must become like this little child E'er we enter God's kingdom of love.