Baby-Land — Text and Context
Edition facts
Before opening Baby-Land — Text and Context, the edition data offers a quick orientation: 16,523 words, 1 hr 12 min estimated reading time, and 71 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 22.6 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Infants -- Poetry,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
“We’ve a baby; did you know?”
We all forget what our griefs have been, And the toils and tears and strife, As the wee bright angels come to earth, Just born to an endless life; And the words will fall like a holy thrill, As adown life’s path we go, And listen yet to the echoes sweet, “We’ve a baby; did you know?”
Softly sway the little cradle; Softly in the quiet night Let my pure beams touch the darling, As I kissed Eve’s babies bright. As I played among the tresses Of her lovely Abel’s head, As I poured my floods of silver ’Round her happy ones long fled.
When the grand old Ark was building, Noah’s babies then I kissed, And they laughed and cooed their welcome, When full-orbed I cheered the east. Through the long and fearful Deluge I was hidden from the Ark, But when cleared away the tempest And the sky was chill and dark,
Then I rose, my lamp full-burning, Pouring silver on the flood, Till the mighty, shoreless ocean, Sparkling, shouted praise to God. How I watched the Ark while billows Were returning to their place, And glad hearts from Noah’s window So rejoiced to see my face.
Sway the little cradle softly; Let me touch the darling’s cheek. Every darling, through the ages, In their thoughts to me will speak. Baby lips for me are smiling; Baby fingers point to me, When my silver sails spread widest On the great, blue, silent sea.
Baby’s little bed should be White as drifting snow; Pure and sweet as Heaven’s air, Where the soft clouds glow. Baby’s tiny coverlet Should be lambs’ wool white, Dainty as the pelican, Fluffy, warm and light. Baby’s pillow should be made Light as eider down, With a cover clean and soft As its little gown. Pin a rose upon the wall, Something great or small, Place where baby’s eyes can see In its quiet revery. Baby understands the flowers; They will cheer its waking hours. Place the feathered songster near; Let him trill for baby’s ear.
Baby understands sweet song, With no words of right or wrong. Guileless babies. Jesus told How, within the Heavenly Fold, All the little ones, in grace See our Father’s blessed face. There what holy song they learn, Ne’er to evil ways to turn. Half the soul-buds of the world Go to Heaven to be unfurled; In that Home where ne’er was heard Thought of sin or evil word. Baby’s bed is ready now. See the gladness light its brow. Softly tuck the velvet feet; Kiss the dimpled fingers sweet; Gently sing a lullaby, Till Love shuts its starry eye. Baby’s bed’s a sacred place, Free from every guile. E’en the weariest of earth Can but look and smile. Be not proud, the angels there Guard the precious one with care, And the light from Pearly Gates Shines across the bed, Where the shining angel waits At the cradle head. Sweetest vigils we will keep, Hush! the darling is asleep.
Darling babies, precious babies! To the cradles flocking, flocking; Little men and little women In the cradles rocking, rocking.
Sweetest baby voices cooing; Dimpled fingers clasping, playing; Baby smiles and baby glances, From the cradles swaying, swaying.
O! the stars may pale in ashes, And the sun may cease its glowing; But these new-born souls forever Must be onward going, going!
Bless these tender hearts, O Saviour! With Thy love these loves entwining; Make them Thine own fadeless jewels. In Thy crown forever shining.
LULLABY OF THE ARCTIC
Sleep, baby, sleep;—safe from the storm, Hid in thy wrappings downy and warm Tell all the drifting snow Tell all the winds that blow, That they must softly go; Baby is here.
Sleep, baby, sleep; storm-clouds have fled, And not a snow-flake touched baby’s bed! Tell the Aurora bright, Tell all the stars of night, Send down your cheery light; Baby is here!
Sleep, baby, sleep: God holds the world: His starry banner now is unfurled. Hear what the angels say, Sent on their shining way, One soul is pure as they; Baby is here.
When Mother Lamech’s baby boy In the bright hammock swung, And Grandpapa Methuselah Some cheery anthem sung, As baby Noah sucked his thumb, Or played with wee pink toes, He knew not of the flood to come With all its startling woes.
The first poem, “There’s a Baby Born,” immediately establishes a cosmic register: “Hark! the shining stars are singing, / And the azure skies are ringing.” Angels bring news of a “Child of Deity” held in “frailest” form. This opening blends Christian nativity with a natural world that sings along—a pattern sustained throughout the collection.
Yet the very next piece, “Did You Know?,” shifts to a garden scene with a child at a gate, “’Mong the roses pure as snow.” The juxtaposition of celestial and domestic is characteristic. Readers should note how the poet, signing as “Wild-Bird,” moves between grand, hymn-like stanzas and intimate vignettes of baby clothes, baths, and cradles.
The Poet’s Voice and Editorial Frame
The title page credits “Wild-Bird” as author—Mrs. Almira L. Corey Frink—and her daughter Olive Bacon Frink as editor, with a 1911 copyright. The dedication, “Father of Lights, to Thee I give / These scattered notes,” frames the poems as devotional offerings. The editor’s hand is visible in the table of contents, which organizes 71 poems under headings like “Lullaby of the Moon” and “The Cradle Song of the Rockies.” Readers may observe that the poems vary in meter and length: some are brief quatrains, others extended meditations. The opening poem’s four-line stanzas contrast with the longer, narrative “Little Old Baby Clothes,” which runs to multiple stanzas of varying line counts. This formal variety suggests the collection was assembled from pieces written at different times, perhaps for different occasions.
Recurring Motifs: Roses, Moon, and Arctic
Three motifs recur across the excerpts. Roses appear in “Lullaby of the Roses,” where the flowers speak: “We wear the styles the roses wore / In the summers beyond the Flood.” They claim descent from Eden, “sinless Eden Home,” and scatter leaves on the baby’s crib. The moon is addressed in “Ode to the Moon” and “Lullaby of the Moon”; the latter is listed but not excerpted. Arctic imagery surfaces in “Lullaby of the Arctic” and “Snow-birds,” suggesting a geographical range unusual for a baby-themed collection. These motifs are not merely decorative—they tie the infant’s world to larger natural cycles. The roses’ self-description as “the same glad roses still” implies continuity across time, while the Arctic lullabies introduce a note of harshness softened by maternal care.
Domestic Objects as Memory Triggers
“Little Old Baby Clothes” is the longest excerpt and the most explicit about material culture. The speaker finds “a little shirt so tiny that the sleeves / Would always seem to, laughing, whisper low.” The shirt, stockings, and “short pink dress” become relics that “roused a thousand memories from repose.” The poem traces a mother’s arc from anticipation (“the coming treasure”) to loss (“the years would come, years sorrowful and sweet”). Notably, the speaker imagines the clothes addressing her: “We were the first you made.” This personification of baby garments recurs in “Little Shoes” and “Baby’s Cup,” where objects carry emotional weight. Readers should watch how the collection uses clothing, furniture (the “cornstalk chair”), and toys to anchor abstract feelings in tangible things.
Structure and Thematic Progression
The table of contents reveals a deliberate ordering. After the cosmic opening, poems alternate between natural lullabies (“Lullaby of the Ocean,” “Lullaby of the Forest”) and domestic scenes (“Baby’s Bath,” “Baby’s Medicine”). Later poems address loss: “The Mother’s Thoughts on the Death of Her First-Born,” “Angel-Twin,” and “Earth’s Requiem for the Little Ones.” The collection ends with “Our Children,” suggesting a return to communal or eternal themes. This arc—from birth, through daily care, to death and remembrance—gives the book a quiet narrative shape. However, the excerpts do not include the final poems, so the resolution remains inferred. The editor’s arrangement may reflect a desire to comfort grieving mothers, as the later titles imply.
Because the excerpts are partial, readers should approach Baby-Land as a sequence of lyrical moments rather than a continuous story. The poems reward attention to recurring images—roses, the moon, Arctic cold—and to shifts in speaker, from omniscient narrator to personified objects. The editor’s role in selecting and ordering these pieces is worth considering: the collection may have been shaped for devotional or memorial purposes. Let the poems speak individually, and note how each lullaby creates its own small world of sound and sense.
That book—all moonlight and mother-arms—stayed with me for weeks, the way certain evenings do. Its quiet Arctic glow kept returning. Later, I found a similar lingering in Some Imagist Poets, 1916: An Annual Anthology — Reading Companion, where the poems feel less like songs for a child and more like private thoughts spoken to the dark. Both hold a tenderness that doesn’t ask anything of you.
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