Measuring The Baby Poem by Emma Alice Browne

We measured the riotous baby
Against the cottage wall:
A lily grew at the threshold,
And the boy was just so tall;
A royal tiger lily,
With spots of purple and gold,
And a heart like a jeweled chalice,
The fragrant dews to hold.

Without the blue birds whistled,
High up in the old roof trees;
And to and fro at the window
The red rose rocked her bees;
And the wee pink fists of the baby
Were never a moment still,
Snatching at shine and shadow,
That danced on the lattice sill!

His eyes were wide as blue-bells,
His mouth like a flower unblown,
Two little barefeet, like funny white mice,
Peept out from his snowy gown;
And we thought, with a thrill of rapture.
That yet had a touch of pain-
When June rolls around with her roses
We'll measure the boy again!

Ah me! In a darkened chamber,
With the sunshine shut away,
Thro' tears that fell like a bitter rain
We measured the Boy to-day!
And the little bare feet, that were dimpled,
And sweet as a budding rose,
Lay side by side together,
In the hush of a long repose!

Up from the dainty pillow,
White as the rising dawn,
The fair little face lay smiling
With the light of Heaven thereon!
And the dear little hands, like rose leaves
Dropt from a rose, lay still,
Never to snatch at the sunshine,
That crept to the shrouded sill!

We measured the sleeping baby
With ribbons white as snow,
For the shining rose-wood casket
That waited him below;
And out of the darkened chamber
We crept with a childless moan:
To the height of the sinless Angels
Our little one had grown!