_"Rhymes of Childhood." Copyright, 1890-1898. Used by permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._
Would ye learn the way to Laughtertown, Oh, ye who have lost the way? Would ye have young hearts, though your hair be gray? Go learn from a little child each day; Go serve his wants and play his play, And catch the lilt of his laughter gay, And follow his dancing feet as they stray, For he knows the road to Laughtertown Oh, ye who have lost the way! _Katherine D. Blake_
What school of learning or of moral endeavor depends on its teacher more than the home upon the mother. _Donald G. Mitchell_
What price could pay with earth's whole weight of gold, One least flushed roseleaf's fold Of all this dimpling store of smiles that shine From each warm curve and line? _Swinburne_
Sometimes when I bin bad An' Pa "correcks" me, nen An' Uncle Sidney he comes here I'm allus good again; Cause Uncle Sidney says, An' takes me up an' smiles, The goodest mens they is ain't good As baddest little childs. _James Whitcomb Riley_
_"Rhymes of Childhood." Copyright, 1890-1898. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company._
Since then God has willed that children should be to us in the place of preceptors, we judge that we owe to them the most diligent attention. _Comenius_
He was so sweet, that oft his mother said, O, child, how was it that I dwelt content Before thou camest? _Jean Ingelow_
Thrice happy state again to be The trusting infant on the knee! Who lets his rosy fingers play About his Mother's neck, and knows Nothing beyond his Mother's eyes; They comfort him by night and day, They light his little life alway. _Tennyson_
I see in every child the possibility of a perfect man. _Froebel_
Where indeed can the modest and earnest virtue of a woman tell a stronger story of its worth than upon the dawning habit of a child? _Donald G. Mitchell_
The expectant wee-things, toddlin' stacher through To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin' noise an' glee, His wee-bit Ingle blinkin' bonnily, His clean hearth-stone, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lispin' infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. _Robert Burns_