Gaelic Poem - Naming Ceremony

Ones based on "being parents"
author is at end of poem...

Children Learn what they Live:

If children live with criticism,
They learn to condemn;
If children live with hostility,
They learn how to fight;
If children live with ridicule,
They learn to be shy;
If children live with shame,
They learn to feel guilty;

If children live with tolerance,
They learn to be patient;
If children live with encouragement,
They learn to have confidence;
If children live with praise,
They learn to appreciate;
If children live with fairness,
They learn justice;
If children live with security,
They learn to have faith;
If children live with approval,
They learn to like themselves;
If children live with love around them,
They learn to give love to the world.

Dorothy Law Nolte

On Children:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Kahlil Gibran

Footprints:

“Walk a little slower Daddy” said a child so small
“I’m following in your footsteps and I don’t want to fall.

Sometimes your steps are very fast,
Sometimes they’re hard to see;
So walk a little slower Daddy,
For you are leading me.

Someday when I’m all grown up,
You’re what I want to be;
Then I will have a little child
Who’ll want to follow me.

And I would want to lead just right,
And know that I was true;
So walk a little slower Daddy,
For I must follow you.

Anon

A Mother’s Wish:

I hope my child looks back on today
And sees a mother who had time to play.
There will be years for cleaning and cooking,
But children grow up when you’re not looking.
Tomorrow I’ll do all the chores you can mention
But today, my baby needs time and attention.
So settle down cobwebs; dust go to sleep,
I’m cuddling my baby, and babies don’t keep.

Anon

A Poem For Parents:

There are little eyes upon you,
And they are watching night and day;
There are little ears that quickly
Take in every word you say.

There are little hands all eager
To do everything you do;
and a little boy who's dreaming
Of the day he'll be like you.

You're the little fellow's idol;
You're the wisest of the wise;
In his little mind, about you
No suspicions ever rise.

He believes in you devotedly,
Holds that all you say and do,
He will say and do in your way
When he's grown up like you.

There's a wide-eyed little fellow
Who believes you're always right;
And his ears are always open,
And he watches day and night.

You are setting an example
Every day in all you do;
For the little boy who's waiting
To grow up to be just like you.

Author Unknown

Brand New Little Daughter:

She´s your brand new little daughter,
so enchanted, sweet and smart.
With a coo, she´ll have you smiling
With a laugh, she´ll own your heart.

It´s the time for hugs and kisses,
Reassurance when she cries.
It´s the time for making moments
Full of love and Lullabies.

For these golden days of childhood
come and go so very fast -
Hold her tight and love her dearly.
Make these precious moments last.

Linda Lee Elrod

For My Baby:

My baby has fallen asleep.
Finally his chest moves up and down.
His soft curls at his ear.
He smells clean, soapy from his bath.

I know him inside out.
The creases at his elbow,
The plumpness of his cheeks.
What makes him coo or cry,
Is part of me.

He's wrapped just in a towel.
That's how he fell asleep
and so
I left him like that
I would not want to wake him
Or
We would both be up the night
And I've only just taught him to sleep -
Four hours at a go.

It is a precious thing to be needed so, by
Such an innocent.
Relied on entirely for sustenance,
My maternal heart moulds his life,
His days.

And yet it does get tiresome for
I have a daughter to think of too.

My baby lies asleep
And I am wide awake.
Feeling how much I love him.
Dreaming of what he will become

I hope to drift off soon
For in but a moment
The alarm clock will sound
And it will be time to get
My baby up for work.

Sharon Brennan

(No title):

Precious one,
So small,
So sweet,
Dancing in on angel feet
Straight from Heaven’s brightest star

What a miracle you are!

Author Unknown

(no title):

A baby will make love stronger
Days shorter, Nights longer
Bankroll smaller, Clothes shabbier,
The past forgotten,
And the future worth living for.

Author Unknown


Ode on the Whole Duty of Parents:

The spirits of children are remote and wise,
They must go free
Like fishes in the sea
Or starlings in the skies,
Whilst you remain
The shore where casually they come again.
But when there falls the stalking shade of fear,
You must be suddenly near,
You, the unstable, must become a tree
In whose unending heights of flowering green
Hangs every fruit that grows, with silver bells;
Where heart-distracting magic birds are seen
And all the things a fairy-story tells;
Though still you should possess
Roots that go deep in ordinary earth,
And strong consoling bark
To love and to caress.

Last, when at dark
Safe on the pillow lies an up-gazing head
And drinking holy eyes
Are fixed on you,
When, from behind them, questions come to birth
Insistently,
On all the things that you have ever said
Of suns and snakes and parallelograms and flies,
And whether these are true,
Then for a while you'll need to be no more
That sheltering shore
Or legendary tree in safety spread,
No, then you must put on
The robes of Solomon,
Or simply be
Sir Isaac Newton sitting on the bed.

Frances Cornford

and theres some on here.

naming ceremony poems

no more i promise

had a cry reading those lol. so sweet