There’ll come a time, my love, I know,
When one of us must surely go.
Beyond the call of voice or tear—
Which shall it be? I question, dear.
O, coward heart, find hope and rest—
Whatever comes to thee is best!
TO FLORENCE
(On Her Tenth Birthday.)
I am very sad and lonely, dear,
Do you care for what I say?
I once had a beautiful baby—
But now she has gone away.
To-day I went up to the garret,
And there in a chest I found
Little shirts, little shoes and stockings
And a dainty little gown.
Scarcely large enough for your dolly
Are the things she used to wear,—
Do you know where has gone my baby,
My baby—with soft, brown hair?
She was such a beautiful baby—
I had thought to keep her so,
But she slipped away with each passing day
And I did not see her go.
* * * * * * *
Then I had a child, as lovely
As my babe had seemed to me;
But she is gone and I gaze through tears
But her face I may not see.
I remember her childish prattle,
The wonderful things she’d say,
Her winsome smile and her merry laugh—
Now, why did she go away?
Her hair was soft as the thistle’s down,
But the sunshine lingered there
And wreathed such glory about her brow
As I never have seen elsewhere.