Her Birthday
YOUR birthday, my girl with the tender eyes,
And the dower of youth and zest,
It is kind of heaven to give us this day,
When the world is looking its best,
When the crimson roses are all abloom
With their sisters of paler grace,
When the sun makes warm, and the dew makes glad
Each velvety beautiful face.
When the breeze which comes seems a heavy breath,—
From the lungs of the earth o’ergrown
With the fairest things, and the sweetest things
That ever was seen, or known,
When the bird has an added note of pride
In each carol of joy he sings,
Do you know? can you guess? my pretty mate,
And the wee things under my wings!
Your birthday, my girl with the tender eyes
And the fair young cheek and brow,
Your birthday, my girl with the smiling lips,
What things shall I wish for you now?
Come close—put your two hands into my own
While I wish you a happy year,
While I wish you the best that heaven can give
To a maiden so sweet and dear.
While I wish you love with never a stint,
For the riches of love are great—
While I wish that shadows may flee your path,
And the glorious sunshine wait,
While I wish you the happiness, full and deep,
The gladness and brightness of life,
A place in your heart for the white dove of peace,
But none for the whisper of strife.
Your birthday, my girl with the tender eyes
And the shimmering braids of hair—
I say as I look through a mist of tears,
It is good to be young and fair,
It is well to lean on the Father’s arm,
Love forces the words in a flood:
God bless my girl with the tender eyes!
God bless her and keep her good!
Slander
THE man who with the breath lent him by heaven
Speaks words that soil the whiteness of a life
Is but an assassin, for death is given
As surely by the tongue, as by the knife.
He does the devil’s basest work—no less—
Who deals in calumnies—who throws the mire
On snowy robes whose hem he dare not press
His foul lips to. The pity of it! Liar,
Yet half believed, by such as deem the good
Or evil but the outcome of a mood.
O slanderer, if fierce imps meet in hell
For converse, when the long day’s toil is through,
Of you they have this worthy thing to tell,
He does the work we are ashamed to do!