O mothers, so weary, discouraged,
Worn out with the cares of the day,
You often grow cross and impatient,
Complain of the noise and the play;
For the day brings so many vexations,
For many things go amiss;
But mothers, whatever may vex you,
Send the children to bed with a kiss!
The dear little feet wander often,
Perhaps from the pathway of right,
The dear little hands find new mischief
To try you from morning till night;
But think of the desolate mothers
Who'd give all the World for your bliss
And, as thanks for your infinite blessings,
Send the children to bed with a kiss!
For some day their noise will not vex you,
The silence will hurt you far more;
You will long for their sweet, childish voices
For a sweet, childish face at the door;
And to press a child's face to your bosom,
You'd give all the world for just this!
For the comfort 'twill bring you in sorrow,
Send the children to bed with a kiss!

When baby wakes, the wooly spread
That held him warmly in his bed
Shows little humps, where tiny feet
Make patterns underneath the sheet!
And, oh, his hands seek friendly things--
Like butterflies with frail, sweet wings.

When baby wakes, the whole house grows
Alive and active! Goodness knows
How one small human being's voice
Can make us hurry--and rejoice!
Life is his game--he always wins.
When baby wakes the day begins!

--Margaret E. Sangster

After a lecture by the late Francis Wayland Parker, great Chicago educator, a woman asked: "How early can I begin the education of my child?"
"When will your child be born?"
"Born" she gasped. "Why, he is already five years old!"
"My goodness, woman," he cried, "don't stand here talking to me--hurry home; already you have lost the best five years."

It is good to remember that Washington was one of ten children, John Wesley of twenty-one children, Shakespeare one of eight, Sir Walter Scott one of eleven, Benjamin Franklin was the tenth, Lyman Beecher, father of Harriet Beecher-Stowe, was one of thirteen and the most puny baby of them all. Tennyson was one of twelve, and Catherine of Siena one of twenty-two.

Any great painting
Will leave my wife fainting.
Its beauty so powerfully enthralls.
But never before
Did she slump, to the floor
As at Junior's new work on our walls!