| |
| “HOW many pounds does the baby weigh— | |
| Baby who came but a month ago? | |
| How many pounds from the crowning curl | |
| To the rosy point of the restless toe?” | |
| |
| Grandfather ties the ’kerchief knot, | 5 |
| Tenderly guides the swinging weight, | |
| And carefully over his glasses peers | |
| To read the record, “Only eight.” | |
| |
| Softly the echo goes around: | |
| The father laughs at the tiny girl; | 10 |
| The fair young mother sings the words, | |
| While grandmother smooths the golden curl. | |
| |
| And stooping above the precious thing, | |
| Nestles a kiss within a prayer, | |
| Murmuring softly “Little one, | 15 |
| Grandfather did not weigh you fair.” | |
| |
| Nobody weighed the baby’s smile, | |
| Or the love that came with the helpless one; | |
| Nobody weighed the threads of care, | |
| From which a woman’s life is spun. | 20 |
| |
| No index tells the mighty worth | |
| Of a little baby’s quiet breath— | |
| A soft, unceasing metronome, | |
| Patient and faithful until death. | |
| |
| Nobody weighed the baby’s soul, | 25 |
| For here on earth no weights there be | |
| That could avail; God only knows | |
| Its value in eternity. | |
| |
| Only eight pounds to hold a soul | |
| That seeks no angel’s silver wing, | 30 |
| But shrines it in this human guise, | |
| Within so frail and small a thing! | |
| |
| Oh, mother! laugh your merry note, | |
| Be gay and glad, but don’t forget | |
| From baby’s eyes looks out a soul | 35 |
| That claims a home in Eden yet. | |
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