Unreconciled
Hid away in the corner I found it,
A little shoe worn out and old;
But dearer to me in my sorrow
Than all earth's treasures of gold.
Scarcely lost to the foot's soft imprint,
I can fancy its warmth still there
As I press it close, close to my bosom
And sob in my hopeless despair.
My arms are so useless and empty,
My heart is so hungry and sore,
My dear little golden-haired baby,
Will lie on my breast, nevermore.
Nevermore, will I feel the soft pressure
Of his rosy lips pressed against mine,
Nevermore will his arms warm and tender
My neck with caresses entwine.
You mock when you say God has ta'en him
Away from the sorrows of earth,
What love could shelter and shield him,
Like the love that had given him birth?
Will it heal the mad longing to fold him
Once more to my grief-stricken heart,
To tell me I'll meet him in Heaven
Nevermore from my darling to part?
Your words are well meant, I can feel it,
But the wound is too deep and too fresh,
I cannot deal now with the spirit,
Oh! God give him back in the flesh.
Let me see him again as I saw him,
So winsome, so rosy, so bright,
His baby face dimpled and roguish,
His blue eyes with laughter alight,
Let me feel in my mad desolation,
His heart throbbing close to my own,
Does God pity me in my sorrow?
Does he care for my heartbroken moan?
Had he need of my darling in Heaven
That the life of my life he has ta'en?
Do not try, while my poor heart is breaking
The mystery of death to explain,
Let me sit by myself in the shadow,
Let me kiss as I will the worn shoe;
For I'm chilled by the breath of the angel
That over my hearthstone flew.
Let me weep as I will, and the teardrops
May wash from my dim eyes away
The shadows that hide in their garments,
The light and the glory of day.
Perhaps, as you say, Christ is tender,
And he'll shelter my lamb in his breast,
But your sympathy hurts me, I cannot—
I will not say yet—"It is best."
The Naughty Dolly
"Oh, Dolly! How can you be naughty?
You've been naughty the whole day through;
You spoiled your white dress in the gutter,
And stuck up my pictures with glue;
And when in a corner I put you,
And plead with you so to be good,
You stared in my face with a simper,
And acted so saucy and rude.
I have tried so hard to be patient—
For I'm sorry to punish you so;
And I love you, my poor naughty Dolly,
Much more than you ever can know.
I hope you will think the day over;
I am going to bed now—good-night.
Be a good little Dolly to-morrow,
And try all the day to do right."
Mabel's Lesson
Mabel stood by the garden gate
Swinging her hat in a careless way;
A frown on her face, a pout on her lip;
For naughty had Mabel been that day.
A pert brown Thrush on a bough o'er head
Fluttered his wings and carolled his song.
Happy as ever a bird could be,
Singing and working all day long.
Mabel had risen late that morn;
The breakfast was over, and everything cold;
Mamma was busy and Harry was ill,
And Bridget did nothing at all but scold.
Long ere the light, the Thrush had been out,
Catching his breakfast as best he could;
Working and singing with right good will—
Never was bird in a merrier mood.
Mabel had started the day all wrong,
Had hurriedly dressed and forgotten to pray;
The bird sang on and she heard his song,
And the wonderful things he seemed to say.
"I waked," he sang, "as one by one
The stars slipped out of the purple night,
Ere the slender fingers of infant dawn
Could catch the thread of their faint pure light.
I bathed in the brook that sings near by,
And borne on the breath of the opening day,
Joyously up to the brightening sky,
I sent to my Maker a grateful lay.
And so I go on and I build my nest,
Happy and busy as bird can be;
For I know though the winds blow cold and chill,
My Heavenly Father guardeth me."
Mabel looked up with a penitent face,
The bird had flown, but the lesson stayed,
And Mabel went in from the garden gate
A better, and wiser, and happier maid.
For bright, or dark is this life of ours,
Just as we make it, children dear—
With naughty deeds come the chilling showers
While the skies of the good are bright and clear.
Baby Kathleen
Into my life, out of Paradise,
She came like a bird, and the low-hung skies
With the muttered threats of their tempest cloud,
That had covered my life with its dismal shroud
Vanished like dew, when the new day springs
From her rosy couch, and unfolds her wings.
Unfolds her wings for her airy flight
From the mist hung dawn to the purple night,
She hovered so near I could almost reach—
My trembling heart was o'erfull for speech,
When joy! oh! joy, on my throbbing breast
She folded her wings for a moment to rest,
For a moment the gates of pearl were ajar
All earth was alight with the radiant star,
That shone o'er Bethlehem's manger low,
On that wonderful night of the long ago.
But I recked for naught of the glowing skies,
While the lovelight shone from her starry eyes;
But my beautiful song bird, blithe and free
With her plumage white was too fair for me,
Adown through the shining gates there came
Voices of angels, calling her name.
I had felt the thrill that her presence brought,
I had learned the lesson her love had taught,
She came, and my life was a garden fair,
She fled, and that life was a desert bare,
But my beautiful bird I will find once more
When I wing my flight to the far off shore,
And Heaven, Ah! Heaven will be so bright
When I find my bird with her plumage white,
When I look once more in her starry eyes,
I shall know I have entered Paradise.