I know not what were my replies—
I thought: dost Thou, O God,
Need ever thy poor children's eyes,
To ease thee of thy load?
They find not Thee in evil case,
But, raised in sorrow wild,
Bring down from visiting thy face
The calmness of a child.
Thou art the depth of Heaven above—
The springing well in her;
Not Father only in thy love,
But daily minister.
And this is how the comfort slid
From her to me the while,—
It was thy present face that did
Smile on me from her smile.
LITTLE ELFIE.
I have an elfish maiden child;
She is not two years old;
Through windy locks her eyes gleam wild,
With glances shy and bold.
Like little imps, her tiny hands
Dart out and push and take;
Chide her—a trembling thing she stands,
And like two leaves they shake.
But to her mind a minute gone
Is like a year ago;
So when you lift your eyes anon,
They're at it, to and fro.
Sometimes, though not oppressed with thought,
She has her sleepless fits;
Then to my room in blanket brought,
In round-backed chair she sits;
Where, if by chance in graver mood,
A hermit she appears,
Seated in cave of ancient wood,
Grown very still with years.