The Baby

Here is a familiar group–a father, a mother, and a company of admiring friends. They are gathered around a cradle. In that cradle is a baby. And these people are looking into the wide eyes of that baby with an interest so keen that you would think that he is the only baby that had ever been born. Of course none had ever been born just like him. And yet such a scene as this has been presented countless millions of times. But in spite of this fact the baby has lost none of its fascination. It is still the most wonderful something that our human eyes have ever seen. Other things may hold our attention for awhile. We may be interested in comets and shooting stars. We may be interested in towering mountains and in the seas booming out their thunder upon the rocks. But none of these are to be compared in genuine interest to a real live baby.
One has called attention to Thomas Carlyle, the sage of Scotland, as he is holding a baby in his arms. It is not his own baby. He never had any children of his own. That was his misfortune. He is holding his cousin’s baby. And as he holds it he looks into its face with wide-eyed wonder. He seems never to be able to get through marveling at it. “To think,” he says, “that Shakespeare was once like this.” His delightful interest does not surprise us. There is somehow a fascination about a baby that never grows old.
Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere, into the here.
Where did you get those eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.
What makes your cheeks like a warm white rose?
I saw something fairer than anyone knows.
Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
The angels gave me at once their kiss.
And how did you come to us, my dear?
God thought of you and so I am here.

Clovis Gillham Chappell (Home Folks)