by Rose Hartwick Thorpe
Little child, when twilight shadows
Close the western gates of gold,
Then those loving arms of mother's
Tenderly about thee fold.
Over lip and cheek and forehead
Like a shower caresses fall;
For a mother's kiss at twilight
Is the sweetest kiss of all.
Slender maiden, at the gateway,
Shy, sweet face and downcast eyes,
Two fair trembling hands imprisoned,
Swift each golden moment flies;
Lips that softly press thy forehead
All the rosy blushes call;
For a lover's kiss at evening
Is the fondest kiss of all.
Happy wife, thy noble husband,
More than half a lover yet,
For those sunny hours of wooing
Are too sweet to soon forget;
On thy smiling mouth uplifted
Tenderly his kisses fall;
For a husband's kiss at parting
Is the dearest kiss of all.
Weary mother, little children
With their dimpled hands so fair,
O'er thy tired face passing lightly,
Soothe away the pain and care,
Lead your troubled thoughts to Heaven
Where no dreary shadows fall;
For the kiss of little children
Is the purest kiss of all.
D Lothrop Company,Franklin And Hawley Streets,Boston