The Pattering Of Little Feet


A number of years ago I awoke from a good nights sleep to a familiar sound. It was a sound of days long past. As I lay in bed it took me a moment to recognize it. It was the sound of the “pattering of little feet.” It was the noise made by the sound of my two-year old granddaughter’s feet running on the hardwood floor outside my bedroom door. I smiled! Funny how something so small as a common sound can take you back in time! That “common”sound brought me back to the days of when I was a young father. I awoke to that sound almost every day. Back then, I must admit that oft-times I didn’t appreciate it. In fact, sometimes I dreaded it! It meant the kids were up, which meant I was “probably” going to have to get up out of the warm bed. That morning, Grandma, was already up and serving to the needs of our granddaughter who had spent the night. I sat up on my elbows in bed and listened a little closer to that beautiful noise. I was already late for work but I lingered for an extra moment and savored the sound that has long since left my home. I miss that sound! Unfortunately, I must confess that I also “missed” the beauty of it when I was a young Father.

Little Feet

By Edgar A. Guest

There is no music quite so sweet

As patter of a baby’s feet.

Who never hears along the hall

The sound of tiny feet that fall

Upon the floor so soft and low

As eagerly they come or go,

Has missed, no matter who he be,

Life’s most inspiring symphony.


There is a music of the spheres

Too fine to ring in mortal ears,

Yet not more delicate and sweet

Than pattering of baby feet;

Where’er I hear that pit-a-pat

Which falls upon the velvet mat,

Out of my dreamy nap I start

And hear the echo in my heart.


‘Tis difficult to put in words

The music of the summer birds,

Yet far more difficult a thing–

A lyric for that pattering;

Here is a music telling me

Of golden joys that are to be;

Unheralded by horns and drums,

To me a regal caller comes.


Now on my couch I lie and hear

A little toddler coming near,

Coming right boldly to my place

To pull my hair and pat my face,

Undaunted by my age or size,

Nor caring that I am not wise–

A visitor devoid of sham

Who loves me just for what I am.


This soft low music tells to me

In just a minute I shall be

Made captive by a thousand charms,

Held fast by chubby little arms,

For there is one upon the way

Who thinks the world was made for play.

Oh, where’s the sound that’s half so sweet

As pattering of baby feet?

I know it is hard to be a young mother or father. It seems the kids will never grow up…but they do! So, as you go through life, remember, savor the “moments.” Savor the small gifts from God that come through the beauty of a tiny child. When next you find yourself lying in bed some early morning and you hear echoes of tiny small feet outside your bedroom door; relish the sound of it! Trust me; you will miss it when it is gone. You will miss the sound of the “pattering of little feet” and everything that came with it!


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