God heard the prayer; His answer came— Now, cease thy murmuring, cease— "Come, little one, come home," He said, "Unto the Land of Peace!"
You sheltered her upon your breast, The child so quaint and wise, To-day, where sorrow is unknown, She walks in paradise.
Her eyes have learned the mystery, Her feet the vale have crost, But, friend of mine, you'll find again The treasure you have lost.
Your arms will surely clasp once more The little fair-haired girl Who waits for you within the gates Of jasper and of pearl.
POYNINGS.
Do you remember that June day among The hills, the high, far-reaching Sussex hills? Above, the straggling flocks of fleecy clouds That skipped and chased each other merrily In God's warm pasturage, the azure sky; Below, the hills that stretched their mighty heads As though they fain would neighbor with that sky. Deep, vivid green, save where the flocks showed white; The wise ewes hiding from the glow of noon In shady spots, the short-wooled lambs at play, And over all the stillness of the hills, The sweet and solemn stillness of the hills.
The shepherds gave us just such looks of mild Surprise as did the sheep they shepherded. "Ye are not of the hills," so said the looks, "Not of our kind, but strangers come from out The busy, bustling world to taste the sweets Of silence and of peace. We wish you well." In eager quest of what the hills might hide, Some valley of content, some spring of youth, Some deep, enchanted dell filled to the brim With subtle mysteries, allurement rare, We followed down a path, a little crooked, Wand'ring path that lost itself and found itself So oft we knew it for the playmate of the stream That went with us and sang a clamorous song— A never-ending song of flock and fold Of sea-mist and of sun—until at length We came into a valley warm and wide, A cradle 'mong the hills. In it there lay No infant hamlet, but one gray and old That dozed and dreamed the soft June hours away.
Gardens there were with fragrant wall-flowers filled, And daffodils, and rhododendrons pale, And sweet, old-fashioned pinks, phlox, rosemary; An avenue of elms, with cottages, And barefoot children sporting on the green. "'Tis Poynings," said the rustic, "see, the church Lies yonder, and the graveyard just beyond; This path will lead you straight to it."