LITTLE FEET

There is no music quite so sweet

As patter of a baby's feet.

Who never hears along the hall

The sound of tiny feet that fall

Upon the floor so soft and low

As eagerly they come or go,

Has missed, no matter who he be,

Life's most inspiring symphony.

There is a music of the spheres

Too fine to ring in mortal ears,

Yet not more delicate and sweet

Than pattering of baby feet;

Where'er I hear that pit-a-pat

Which falls upon the velvet mat,

Out of my dreamy nap I start

And hear the echo in my heart.

‘ Tis difficult to put in words

The music of the summer birds,

Yet far more difficult a thing —

A lyric for that pattering;

Here is a music telling me

Of golden joys that are to be;

Unheralded by horns and drums,

To me a regal caller comes.

Now on my couch I lie and hear

A little toddler coming near,

Coming right boldly to my place

To pull my hair and pat my face,

Undaunted by my age or size,

Nor caring that I am not wise —

A visitor devoid of sham

Who loves me just for what I am.

This soft low music tells to me

In just a minute I shall be

Made captive by a thousand charms,

Held fast by chubby little arms,

For there is one upon the way

Who thinks the world was made for play.

Oh, where's the sound that's half so sweet

As pattering of baby feet?