Expectancy is in the air; we seem to live with greater zest; there's hushed excitement everywhere. With leaves the Honeysuckle's dressed. The hazel catkins are in flow'r; they patiently await the bees. I hear, well, almost any hour, a secret whispered by the breeze. The sun's more generous with his gold; he spilt it at my feet to-day. A happy wren was very bold and carolled forth a roundelay. The sturdy tit with sable breast, the blue tit, lovely little thing, are pecking with the greatest zest at fat a-dangling from a string! On every slender willow bough (with ecstasy this news I write) the Persian Kittens frolic now; the boisterous wind gives them delight. They jump about like anything; and how their silver fur coats gleam! They prove that it is really Spring—and not a tantalizing dream!
SALUTE TO THE BRAVE
She'd been the live-long day in one drab room. An illness kept her chained. I never saw a more depressing gloom. And it had rained and rained. No flowers were there, no books for her to read, nothing for her caress. No heart so stony that it would not bleed to see such loneliness. Then, while I sought for words not out of tune, a fitting phrase to cheer, she told me how, each night, the friendly moon was wont to float quite near. "It came so near last night," she, laughing, said—"I really thought it meant to visit me in bed." A star had tapped upon her window-pane, and talked awhile. That day she'd watched the merry dancing rain. The raindrops made her smile. And through her window (oh! such beauty there) she'd seen, she said, a gleam of sunlight on a baby's hair, a sparrow with some bread. And thus to others often do we go through kindliest desires. And stay to warm our spirits by the glow from braver, finer fires!
MY VISITORS
At Dawn a little rhyme appeared and whispered: "Take me, pray." "Oh, little rhyme," I softly jeered, "I bid you run away. You've sleepy eyes and child-like grace. I want a rhyme with thoughtful face." At Noon there came a little rhyme, and lisped: "Do listen, please!" Said I "Not now. I have no time. Now, little rhyme, don't tease. At Twelve-Hours-Old you are not strong to bear the burden of a song." Three little rhymes arrived at night, and sat beside my fire. I welcomed them with great delight, and asked them their desire. "We're knocking at your heart," they cried. "Oh, won't you let us slip inside?" In turn I looked at each small face. I recognized each one. For here was Dawn of child-like grace, and Noon of work half-done, and weary Night. I bid them stay, for they made up the Song of Day.
THIS WAY BUT ONCE
Above, a very lovely bit of sky, a rosy edging to a fluffy cloud. You did not stop, but swiftly hurried by, your mind engrossed with thought, your head low bowed. Oh! raise your eyes before these glories wane—perhaps you will not pass this way again. A brother on life's lonely, stone-strewn road is standing in your sight as you advance. 'Tis clear he faints beneath his heavy load. You are so busy, you can barely glance. Oh! lend a helping hand, assuage his pain—maybe you'll never pass this way again. It would be well as we go on our way to speak the helpful words that spring to mind; to do whate'er we can each fresh-born day, and ne'er defer the action just and kind. Nor hold between our teeth the words of praise, the words a hungry heart desires to hear. A blossom at your feet? Then stoop to gaze. A soul distressed? Go forth at once to cheer. A chance to help? Then use that chance to-day—perhaps no more you'll pass along this way.
WANDERING THOUGHTS
With thoughts for sheep, I am a shepherdess. And I must homeward bring my flock each night. For some have ranged to hills of happiness, and some in sorrow's vale are out of sight. And some have wandered far upon the road that leads to memories of long ago, and when they reached my childhood's dear abode, they frolicked with a dream-child that I know. My thoughts are sheep and pitifully stray, some here, some there, some eastward, and some west; whilst I, the shepherdess, at close of day, must bring them to the fold for warmth and rest. But some I will not call again to me—the thoughts that travel to a distant friend. They, shepherded by Love most carefully, upon their pleasant journey swiftly wend. Friend! Gather in these loving thoughts of mine; and let your heart, I pray you, be their fold; and you, the shepherd, with a magic sign, encircle them and keep them from the cold!