THE KINDERBANK

It was a day in warm July,

It was a far countree;

The bees were humming in the flowers

That filled the linden tree.

The linden made a cooling shade

For many a yard around,

And flecks of sunlight here and there

Did dot the shady ground.

A long, low, easy seat there was

Beneath the linden green;

And Kinderbank across the back

In letters large was seen.

I did not need that word to read,

To know the Children's Seat;

For there the grass was trodden down

By many little feet.

Upon this day the Kinderbank

Was full as it could be,

With children sitting in a row,

A pleasant sight to see.

Each little woman bent her head,

Too busy far to speak;

Each had a lock of yellow hair

Slipped down across her cheek.

Each little woman pursed her lips

Into a rosebud small,

And never knew how fast time flew —

So busy were they all.

One made the knitting-needles click,

With shining head bent low,

And earnest eyes intent to see

The winter stocking grow.

Another, toiling at a seam,

The thread drew in and out;

And once she sighed — so hard she tried

To make the stitches stout!

But ever, as they worked away,

And would not look around,

They watched the little ones that played

Before them on the ground.

The little ones they laughed and cooed,

And talked their baby-talk;

Their feet so bare were rosy-fair —

For only one could walk!

His flaxen hair in ringlets stood

Upon his serious head;

His eyes so blue were serious, too;

And, drawing near, I said:

“Whose precious baby boy is this,

So thoughtful and so sweet?”

Then up and spoke a little maid,

Of those upon the seat:

“This baby — he belongs to me.

He goes just where I go;

And I'm his Little Mother — yes,

My mother told me so!

“She said that he was mine‘ all day.’

And so it must be true;

I brushed his hair — I take good care,

As she herself would do.

“And I'm quite sure that I can cure,

And drive the pain away,

With kisses, if my baby hurts

His little hand at play!”

“And whose are all these babies here?

“Why — we — oh, do n't you know?”

We all are Little Mothers — yes,

Our mothers told us so!”

The Little Mothers all looked up,

And each did nod her head:

“Our mothers told us so!” “Ah, then

‘ Tis true, indeed,” I said.

I left them as I found them, there

Beneath the linden tree;

And often since that day I've thought

I'd like to go and see

If still the Little Mothers sit

Upon the Children's Seat,

And watch their babies as they play

And tumble at their feet.