| Billy's dead, and gone to glory—so is Billy's sister Nell: |
| There's a tale I know about them, were I poet I would tell; |
| Soft it comes, with perfume laden, like a breath of country air |
| Wafted down the filthy alley, bringing fragrant odors there. |
| |
| In that vile and filthy alley, long ago one winter's day, |
| Dying quick of want and fever, hapless, patient Billy lay, |
| While beside him sat his sister, in the garret's dismal gloom, |
| Cheering with her gentle presence Billy's pathway to the tomb. |
| |
| Many a tale of elf and fairy did she tell the dying child, |
| Till his eyes lost half their anguish, and his worn, wan features smiled; |
| Tales herself had heard haphazard, caught amid the Babel roar, |
| Lisped about by tiny gossips playing round their mothers' door. |
| |
| Then she felt his wasted fingers tighten feebly as she told |
| How beyond this dismal alley lay a land of shining gold, |
| Where, when all the pain was over,—where, when all the tears were shed,— |
| He would be a white-frocked angel, with a gold thing on his head. |
| |
| Then she told some garbled story of a kind-eyed Saviour's love, |
| How He'd built for little children great big playgrounds up above, |
| Where they sang and played at hopscotch and at horses all the day, |
| And where beadles and policemen never frightened them away. |
| |
| This was Nell's idea of heaven,—just a bit of what she'd heard, |
| With a little bit invented, and a little bit inferred. |
| But her brother lay and listened, and he seemed to understand, |
| For he closed his eyes and murmured he could see the promised land. |
| |
| "Yes," he whispered, "I can see it, I can see it, sister Nell, |
| Oh, the children look so happy and they're all so strong and well; |
| I can see them there with Jesus—He is playing with them, too! |
| Let as run away and join them, if there's room for me and you." |
| |
| She was eight, this little maiden, and her life had all been spent |
| In the garret and the alley, where they starved to pay the rent; |
| Where a drunken father's curses and a drunken mother's blows |
| Drove her forth into the gutter from the day's dawn to its close. |
| |
| But she knew enough, this outcast, just to tell this sinking boy, |
| "You must die before you're able all the blessings to enjoy. |
| You must die," she whispered, "Billy, and I am not even ill; |
| But I'll come to you, dear brother,—yes, I promise that I will. |
| |
| "You are dying, little brother, you are dying, oh, so fast; |
| I heard father say to mother that he knew you couldn't last. |
| They will put you in a coffin, then you'll wake and be up there, |
| While I'm left alone to suffer in this garret bleak and bare." |
| |
| "Yes, I know it," answered Billy. "Ah, but, sister, I don't mind, |
| Gentle Jesus will not beat me; He's not cruel or unkind. |
| But I can't help thinking, Nelly, I should like to take away |
| Something, sister, that you gave me, I might look at every day. |
| |
| "In the summer you remember how the mission took us out |
| To a great green lovely meadow, where we played and ran about, |
| And the van that took us halted by a sweet bright patch of land, |
| Where the fine red blossoms grew, dear, half as big as mother's hand. |
| |
| "Nell, I asked the good kind teacher what they called such flowers as those, |
| And he told me, I remember, that the pretty name was rose. |
| I have never seen them since, dear—how I wish that I had one! |
| Just to keep and think of you, Nell, when I'm up beyond the sun." |
| |
| Not a word said little Nelly; but at night, when Billy slept, |
| On she flung her scanty garments and then down the stairs she crept. |
| Through the silent streets of London she ran nimbly as a fawn, |
| Running on and running ever till the night had changed to dawn. |
| |
| When the foggy sun had risen, and the mist had cleared away, |
| All around her, wrapped in snowdrift, there the open country lay. |
| She was tired, her limbs were frozen, and the roads had cut her feet, |
| But there came no flowery gardens her poor tearful eyes to greet. |
| |
| She had traced the road by asking, she had learnt the way to go; |
| She had found the famous meadow—it was wrapped in cruel snow; |
| Not a buttercup or daisy, not a single verdant blade |
| Showed its head above its prison. Then she knelt her down and prayed; |
| |
| With her eyes upcast to heaven, down she sank upon the ground, |
| And she prayed to God to tell her where the roses might be found. |
| Then the cold blast numbed her senses, and her sight grew strangely dim; |
| And a sudden, awful tremor seemed to seize her every limb. |
| |
| "Oh, a rose!" she moaned, "good Jesus,—just a rose to take to Bill!" |
| And as she prayed a chariot came thundering down the hill; |
| And a lady sat there, toying with a red rose, rare and sweet; |
| As she passed she flung it from her, and it fell at Nelly's feet. |
| |
| Just a word her lord had spoken caused her ladyship to fret, |
| And the rose had been his present, so she flung it in a pet; |
| But the poor, half-blinded Nelly thought it fallen from the skies, |
| And she murmured, "Thank you, Jesus!" as she clasped the dainty prize. |
| |
| Lo! that night from but the alley did a child's soul pass away, |
| From dirt and sin and misery up to where God's children play. |
| Lo! that night a wild, fierce snowstorm burst in fury o'er the land, |
| And at morn they found Nell frozen, with the red rose in her hand. |
| |
|
| Billy's dead, and gone to glory—so is Billy's sister Nell; |
| Am I bold to say this happened in the land where angels dwell,— |
| That the children met in heaven, after all their earthly woes, |
| And that Nelly kissed her brother, and said, "Billy, here's your rose"? |
| |
| George R. Sims. |