THE SLEEPING SOUL.
Will ever thy soul awake,
Awake and come smiling to greet my own?
Will ever the love-light break
From thine eyes upon me, like the sun
On the billows that shoreward run,
Into foam by the winds of the ocean blown?
To me seems thy pure soul sleeping.
Thou hast in thy heart a bird,
But its head is under its wing.
I watch it and think with weeping
How sweet a song it might sing;
Yet by love it is never stirred.
Oft in the hush of a drowsy night
I dream that I hear that low bird voice
Lilting so merrily,
Singing so cheerily,
Bidding my heart to its depths rejoice;
But alas, takes flight
My dream before the dawn’s lance of light.
Alas, it is not for me
To kiss thy soul, as the prince in story
Kissed the Sleeping Beauty’s lips,
And to a life-love waken thee.
Round thee there is a maiden glory
Fairer than circles the sun that dips
Into the sea while chill night comes creeping
Slowly, silently through the sky;
But as well might I
Reach out my hand to the sun and try
To make his glory my very own
As think to touch with my finger tips
Thy glorious beauty that shrinks from me.
THE MOTHER.
Down the bright pathway of life, where joy, like the throstle, was singing,
She passed, like a sungleam at dawn, through mistlands of sorrows and fears,
Seeking the soul of the babe at her bosom now nursing and clinging,
And stood in the valley of death, gloomed with the shadow of tears.
Ghost glided past after ghost, and shook ghastly arms at the mortal
Who dared to the valley of pain go down for the winning of life.
Hour after hour trembled by, as we crouched in our woe at the portal,
Made strangers to her whom we loved by strangers who looked on her strife.
Angels spake hope to her there, as she stood in the vale of the shadow,
Demons snarled at her heels, she was haunted by visions abhorred;
But Love was a lamp to her feet as she passed through the woe-blossomed meadow,
Seeking the soul of her child. She was brave, for her trust was the Lord.