"What is wrong with my big brother?"
Says the child;
For they two had got no mother
And she loved him like no other:
If he smiled,
All the world seemed bright and gay
To this happy little May.
If to her he sharply spoke,
This big brother—
Then her tender heart nigh broke;
But the cruel pain that woke,
She would smother—
As a little woman can;—
Was he not almost a man?
But when trouble or disgrace
Smote the boy,
She would lift her gentle face—
Surely 'twas her own right place.
To bring joy?
For she loved him—loved him so!
Whether he was good or no
May be he will never feel
Half her love;
Wound her, and forget to heal:
Idle words are sharp as steel:
But above,
I know what the angels say
Of this silent little May.
DON'T BE AFRAID.
Don't be afraid of the dark,
My daughter, dear as my soul!
You see but a part of the gloomy world,
But I—I have seen the whole,
And I know each step of the fearsome way,
Till the shadows brighten to open day.
Don't be afraid of pain,
My tender little child:
When its smart is worst there comes strength to bear,
And it seems as if angels smiled,—
As I smile, dear, when I hurt you now.
In binding up that wound on your brow.
Don't be afraid of grief,
'Twill come—as night follows day,
But the bleakest sky has tiny rifts
When the stars shine through—as to say
Wait, wait a little—till night is o'er
And beautiful day come back once more.
O child, be afraid of sin,
But have no other fear,
For God's in the dark, as well as the light;
And while we can feel Him near,
His hand that He gives, His love that He gave,
Lead safely, even to the dark of the grave.
GIRL AND BOY
Alfred is gentle as a girl,
But Judith longs to be a boy!
Would cut off every pretty curl
With eager joy!
Hates to be called "my dear"—or kissed:
For dollies does not care one fig:
Goes, sticking hands up to the wrist
In jackets big.
Would like to do whate'er boy can;
Play cricket—even to go school:
It is so grand to be a man!
A girl's a fool!
But Alfred smiles superior love
On all these innocent vagaries.
He'd hate a goose! but yet a dove
Ah, much more rare is!
She's anything but dove, good sooth!
But she's his dear and only sister:
And, had she been a boy, in truth
How he'd have missed her.
So, gradually her folly dies,
And she'll consent to be just human,
When there shines out of girlish eyes
The real Woman.
AGNES AT PRAYER
"Our Father which art in heaven,"
Little Agnes prays,
Though her kneeling is but show,
Though she is too young to know
All, or half she says.
God will hear her, Agnes mild,
God will love the innocent child.
"Our Father which art in heaven."
She has a father here,
Does she think of his kind eyes,
Tones that ne'er in anger rise—
"Yes, dear," or "No, dear."
They will haunt her whole life long
Like a sweet pathetic song.
"Our Father which art in heaven,"
Through thy peaceful prayer,
Think of the known father's face,
Of his bosom, happy place;
Safely sheltered there;
And so blessed—long may He bless!
Think too of the fatherless.
GOING TO WORK
Come along for the work is ready—
Rough it may be, rough, tough and hard—
But—fourteen years old—stout, strong and steady,
Life's game's beginning, lad!—play your card—
Come along.
Mother stands at the door-step crying
Well but she has a brave heart too:
She'll try to be glad—there's nought like trying,
She's proud of having a son like you.
Come along.
Young as she is, her hair is whitening,
She has ploughed thro' years of sorrow deep,
She looks at her boy, and her eyes are brightening,
Shame if ever you make them weep!
Come along.
Bravo! See how the brown cheek flushes!
Ready to work as hard as you can?
I have always faith in a boy that blushes,
None will blush for him, when he's a man.
Come along.