Just beyond the toiling town
I saw a child to-day,
With busy little hands of brown
Making toys of clay.
Working there with all his heart,
Beneath the spreading trees,
He moulded with unconscious art
Whatever seemed to please.
Men and fortress, plates and pies,
All out of clay he made,
Then rubbed with chubby fists his eyes,
And slumbered in the shade.
JOHN CLAIR MINOT. Bowdoin Quill.
~When Morning Breaks.~
When morning breaks, what fortune waits for me?
What ships shall rise from out the misty sea?
What friends shall clasp my hand in fond farewell?
What dream-wrought castles, as night's clouds dispel,
Shall raise their sun-kissed towers upon the lea?
To-night the moon-queen shining wide and free,
To-night the sighing breeze, the song, and thee;
But time is brief. What cometh, who can tell,
When morning breaks?
To-night, to-night, then happy let us be!
To-night, to-night, life's shadowy cares shall flee!
And though the dawn come in with chime or knell,
When night recalls its last bright sentinel,
I shall, at least, have memories left to me,
When morning breaks.
EDWARD A. RALEIGH. Cornell Magazine.
~A Lost Memory.~