The old house moans, and sighs and groans,
—Black is the night and cold—
We have seen brave times, you and I, old friend,
But now—we are growing old.
We have stood foursquare to many a storm,
But now—we are growing old.
Oh … where is my lamb—
My one ewe lamb—
That strayed from the fold?
Her mother sleeps on the hill out there,
—Black is the night and cold,—
She is free from care, she is happier there,
Beneath the warm brown mould.
And I've sometimes hoped they may have met,
And the end of the tale be told.
Ah … where is our lamb—
Our one ewe lamb—
That strayed from the fold?
Was that a branch that shed its load?
—Black is the night and cold,—
Or—was it a footstep in the snow—
A timid footstep—halting, slow?
Ah me! I am getting old!
Is that a tapping—soft and low?
Can it be … I thought I heard … but no,
'Twas only a branch that shed its snow,—
God's truth! I am getting old!
For I thought … maybe
It was my lamb
Come home again to the fold.
Dear Lord! a hand at the frozen pane!
—White on the night's black cold—
O my lamb! my lamb! are you come again?
My dear lost lamb, are you come again?
Are you come again to the fold?
It is!… It is!… Now I thank Thee, Lord,
For Thy Mercies manifold!
She is come again!
She is home again!
My lamb that strayed from the fold!
BIDE A WEE!
Though the times be dark and dreary,
Though the way be long,
Keep your spirits bright and cheery,—
—"Bide a wee, and dinna weary!"
Is a heartsome song.
THE WORD THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID
"A red rose for my helmet,
And a word before we part!
The rose shall be my oriflamme
The word shall fill my heart."
Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart—
Just a look, just a word and a look!
A look or a sign that my love shall divine
And a word for my hungering heart!
She toyed with his love and her roses;
Was it mischief or mischance?—
She dropped him a rose—'twas a white one,
And he lifted it on his lance.
Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!
Is it thus—is it thus we part?
With never a look, and never a sign,
Nor a word for my hungering heart!
She sought him among the dying,
She found him among the dead;
And the rose was still in his helmet.
But his life had stained it red.
Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!
Now my heart within me is dead.
And alack for the look!
And alas for the sign!
And the word that was left unsaid!