In the garret we put her high-chair,
And saved her rattle and ball,
But she never came back to claim them
And all in vain was my call.
* * * * * * *
“I will not go and leave you
As the others went away.”
Yes, I hear what you are saying, dear,
That you will be sure to stay.
* * * * * * *
It must be that I was dreaming
Of days that have passed away—
What is it, my own little daughter,
You are ten years old, to-day?
Yes, nestle up closer, my darling,
You have banished all my care,—
For you are my beautiful baby
And my child with the sunlit hair.
As I look in your soft, brown eyes, dear,
My baby’s face I see,
And I know not what to call you, now
Save my blessed trinity.
NATURE’S INFLUENCE
O, is there aught in this wide world more strange,
Or aught more wonderful in spheres unknown,
Than nature’s influence on human life?
We go into the open field or wood,
And she is there, and we are thrilled, and feel
An ecstacy which words cannot define—
A touch too delicate for human speech.
The robin’s song comes floating on the air,
And all his soul is in it—it is more
To me than grandest opera, for by it
Is ushered in the sweet arbutus bloom
And tulips gay and yellow daffodils.
I stray amid a field of daisy bloom—
That all-pervading Presence seems most nigh,
The atmosphere they breathe is full of cheer.
Who that has wandered with them, has not felt
His burdens lightened and his sorrows healed?
I know not why, but common flowers declare
Truth unto me when hot-house-cultured fail,
And yet, however reared, no bud could ope
But felt the Awakener’s touch of magic.
This do they teach. The same warm rays of sun
Fall on the nettle-plant, as fall upon
The sweet briar-rose, and the rain-laden cloud
Passes not by the meanest weed that grows.
And do not wayside flowers invite alike
The rich and humble? To possess is more
Than ownership. Who takes from harvest-field
Food for the inner life may richer be
Than he who fills his granary to the brim.
Jesus, who spake strong words for human needs
But spake what every soul has felt and known—
That life and body are of greater worth,
Than food and raiment.
Red’ning in the Spring
Each maple tree reveals that wondrous care
Which never slumbers. Throbbed our human hearts
In harmony with Nature’s, should we feel
It less, when dead leaves rustle ’neath our feet,
And winds of Autumn sing funereal dirge?
Why do men question of a future life?
The tiniest grass blades, springing from the sod,
Are bridges, whereupon with trusting feet
I can in safety cross the stream of doubt—
Wing of bird and cloud which floats above me,
Pebble and sea shell which the tide brings in,
Op’ning bud and tinted leaf of autumn,
Ye all are messengers unto my soul.
For ye are typical, and the revealers
Of the All-Beautiful, whom I adore!