From the Rock Island Argus, April 19, 1915. By W. D. Nesbit.
They ain’t much to a baby, till it gets to know yer face
An’ pesters till you take it an’ hug it ‘round the place,
An’ grapples at yer whiskers with pudgy-wudgy hands,
An’ sez a lot o’ gurgles its mother understands.
An’ the time a gran’dad’s gladness and tickledness begins
Is when th’ little feller looks up at him an’ grins.
His grin shows that he knows ye, and trusts ye as a friend—
A baby isn’t growed up an’ never can pretend!—
His eyes has honest twinkles an’ somehow you know they start
From ‘way down in th’ goodness that’s beatin’ in his heart.
It’s confidence he gives you without no outs and ins
When he begins to dimple an’ looks at you an’ grins.
They ain’t much to a baby, but in its grin you know
You’re seein’ lots o’ sunshine you lost long, long ago;
It makes you feel religious—a baby’s heart is clean
An’ when it gives its favor it’s purpose isn’t mean—
You think the Lord’s forgiven a hull lot o’ your sins
When that fat little feller looks up at you an’ grins.
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