Part 2

My babe was moaning in its sleep, I leaned and kissed it where it lay, My pain was such I could not weep, Oh, would God take my child away? He had so many round his throne-- If He took mine--I stood alone!

I took my child upon my knee; It looked up with its father's eyes, Who, ere the infant came to me, Had journeyed homeward to the skies, But through These eyes, so sad and mild, I found my husband, in my child.

It was such comfort, night and day, To watch its slumber,--feel its breath-- And slow--so slow--it pined away, I heard not the approach of Death Until he stood close at my side, And then my soul within me died.

I clasped my babe with sudden moan, I cried, "My sweet, thou shalt not go To join the children round the Throne, For I have need of thee below. If God takes thee, I am bereft-- No hope or joy or comfort left."

My babe looked pleading in my face, It seemed my husband's eyes instead, And his voice sounded in the place, "I want my child in heaven," it said. The infant raised its little hands, And seemed to reach toward heavenly lands.

The tears that had refused to flow Came welling upward from my heart, I sobbed, "My child, then thou may'st go, Thy angel father bids us part. I know in all that heavenly place He ne'er looked on so sweet a face.

"He journeyed on, before thou came-- And all these months, he's longed for thee, How could I so forget his claim-- And strive to keep thee at my knee. Go, child--my child--and give him this-- In one the wife's and mother's kiss."

My baby smiled, and seeming slept, Its hand grew cold within my own. Not wholly sad the tears I wept For though I was indeed alone My babe I knew was safe at rest. Upon its angel father's breast.

IN FAITH.

When the soft sweet wind o' the south went by, I dwelt in the light of a dark brown eye; And out where the robin sang his song, We lived and loved, while the days were long.

In the sweet, sweet eves, when the moon swung high, We wandered under the starry sky; Or sat in the porch, and the moon looked through The latticed wall, where the roses grew.

My lips, that had known no lover's kiss, You taught the art, till they thrilled in bliss; And the moon, and the stars, and the roses knew That the heart you won was pure and true.

But true hearts weary men, maybe, For you grew weary of love, and me. Over the porch the dead vines hang, And a mourning dove sobs where the robin sang.

In a warmer clime does another sigh Under the light of your dark brown eye? Did you follow the soft sweet wind o' the south And are you kissing a redder mouth?

Lips may be redder, and eyes more bright; The face may be fairer you see to-night; But never, love, while the stars shall shine; Will you find a heart that is truer than mine.

Sometime, perhaps, when south winds blow, You will think of a love you used to know; Sometime, perhaps, when a robin sings, Your heart will go back to olden things.

Sometime you will weary of this world's arts, Of deceit and change and hollow hearts, And, wearying, sigh for the "used to be," And your feet will turn to the porch, and me.

I shall watch for you here when days grow long; I shall list for your step through the robin's song; I shall sit in the porch where the moon looks through, And a vacant chair will wait--for you.

You may stray, and forget, and rove afar, But my changeless love, like the polar star, Will draw you at length o'er land and sea-- And I know you will yet come back to me.

The years may come, and the years may go, But sometime again, when south winds blow, When roses bloom, and the moon swings high, I shall live in the light of your dark brown eye.

I TOLD YOU.

I told you the winter would go, love, I told you the winter would go. That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came, And you smiled when I told you so. You said the blustering fellow Would never yield to a breeze, That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death The flowers, and birds, and trees.

And I told you the snow would melt, love, In the passionate glance o' the sun; And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees, Would come back again, one by one. That the great, gray clouds would vanish And the sky turn tender and blue And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring, And, love, it has all come true.

I told you that sorrow would fade love And you would forget half your pain; That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long, And sing in your bosom again; That hope would creep out of the shadows, And back to its nest in your heart, And gladness would come, and find its old home, And that sorrow at length would depart.

I told you that grief seldom killed, love, Though the heart might seem dead for awhile. But the world is so bright, and so full of warm light That 'twould waken at length, in its smile. Ah, love! was I not a true prophet? There's a sweet happy smile on your face; Your sadness has flown--the snow-drift is gone, And the buttercups bloom in its place.

LOST.

You left me with the autumn time; When winter stripped the forest bare, Then dressed it in his spotless rime; When frosts were lurking in the air You left me here and went away. The winds were cold; you could not stay.

You sought a warmer clime, until The south wind, artful maid, should break The winter's trumpets, and should fill The air with songs of birds; and wake The sleeping blossoms on the plain And make the brooks to flow again.

I thought the winter desolate, And all times felt a sense of loss. I taught my longing heart to wait, And said, "When spring shall come across The hills, with blossoms in her track, Then she, our loved one, will come back."

And now the hills with grass and moss The spring with cunning hands has spread, And yet I feel my grievous loss. My heart will not be comforted, But crieth daily, "Where is she You promised should come back to me?"

Oh, love! where are you! day by day; I seek to find you, but in vain. Men point me to a grave, and say: "There is her bed upon the plain." But though I see no trace of you, I cannot think their words are true.

You were too sweet to wholly pass Away from earth, and leave no trace; You were too fair to let the grass Grow rank and tall above your face. Your voice, that mocked the robin's trill, I cannot think is hushed and still.

I thought I saw your golden hair, One day, and reached to touch a strand; I found but yellow sunbeams there-- The bright rays fell aslant my hand And seemed to mock, with lights and shades, The silken meshes of your braids.

Again, I thought I saw your hand Wave, as if beckoning to me; I found 'twas but a lily, fanned By the cool zephyrs from the sea. Oh, love! I find no trace of you-- I wonder if their words were true?

One day I heard a singing voice; A burst of music, trill on trill. It made my very soul rejoice; My heart gave an exultant thrill. I cried, "Oh heart, we've found her--hush!" But no--'twas the silver-throated thrush.

And once I thought I saw your face, And wild with joy I ran to you; But found, when I had reached the place, 'Twas but a blush rose, bathed in dew. Ah, love! I think you must be dead; And I believe the words they said.

ONLY A SAD MISTAKE.

Only a blunder--a sad mistake; All my own fault and mine alone. The saddest error a heart can make; I was so young, or I would have known.

Only his rare, sweet, tender smile; Only a lingering touch of his hand. I think I was dreaming all the while, The reason I did not understand.

Yet, somewhere, I've read men woo this way; That eyes speak, sometimes, before the tongue. And I was sure he would speak some day; Pardon the folly--I was so young.

Was I, say--for now I am old! So old, it seems like a hundred years Since I felt my heart growing hard and cold With a pain too bitter and deep for tears.

I saw him lean over the stranger's chair, With a warm, new light in his beautiful eyes; And I woke from my dreaming, then and there, And went out of my self-made Paradise.

He never loved me--I know, I see! Such sad, sad blunders as young hearts make. She did not win him away from me, For he was not mine. It was my mistake.

A woman should wait for a man to speak Before she dreams of his love, I own; But I was a girl--girls' hearts are weak; And the pain, like the fault, is mine alone.

SONG OF THE WHEELMAN.

Over my desk in a dark office bending, Dim seems the sunlight and dull seems the day; But when the afternoon draws toward an ending, Here waits my steel steed--I mount, and away! Like cobwebs of silver I see in the distance The glint of bright wheels, I must follow and find. What life in the air now! what zest in existence, As faster and faster I race with the wind.

Down the smooth pavements, and out toward the heather-- Ho! fellows, ho! I am coming you see!

Breast to breast, now let us speed on together-- Who dares try mounting that hillside with me? Over the bridge I go--past the green meadows, Au revoir, boys, I will ride on alone! For in yon cottage half hid in the shadows, Waiting for me, is my sweetheart--my own.

She watches my wheel as it glitters and glistens Down the steep crest of the daisy-starred hill. Fair is her cheek as she waits there and listens For the sure signal blown tenderly shrill. Sweetheart, my sweetheart, I'm coming, I'm coming. Here, sturdy steed, you may stand by the wall.

A bird to her mate has flown swift thro' the gloaming, Love, youth and summer, thank God for them all.

"THE OLD MOON IN THE NEW MOON'S ARMS."

The beautiful and slender young New Moon, In trailing robes of pink and palest blue, Swept close to Venus, and breathed low: "A boon A precious boon, I ask, dear friend, of you.

"O queen of light and beauty, you have known The pangs of love--its passions and alarms; Then grant me this one favor, let my own-- My lost Old Moon be once more in my arms."

Swift thro' the vapors and the golden mist-- The Full Moon's shadowy shape shone on the night, The New Moon reached out clasping arms and kissed Her phantom lover in the whole world's sight.

THE SOUL'S FAREWELL TO THE BODY.

So we must part forever. And although I long have beat my wings and cried to go Free from your narrow limits and control, Forth into space, the true home of the soul;

Yet now, yet now that hour is drawing near, I paused reluctant, finding you so dear. All joys await me in the realm of God; Must you, my comrade, moulder in the sod?

I was your captive, yet you were my slave; Your prisoner, yet obedience you gave To all my earnest wishes and commands. Now to the worm I leave these willing hands

That toiled for me, or held the book I read. These feet that trod where 'er I bade them tread, These arms that clasped my dear ones, and the breast On which one loved and loving heart found rest.

These lips thro' which my prayers to God have risen, These eyes that were the windows of my prison. From these, all these, Death's angel bids me sever, Dear Comrade Body, fare you well forever.

I go to my inheritance; and go With joy that only the freed soul can know; Yet, in my spirit journeyings I trust I may sometimes pause near your sacred dust.

LONG AGO.

I loved a maiden, long ago, She held within her hand my fate; And in the ruddy sunset glow We lingered at the garden gate.

The splendor of the western skies Lay in a halo on her hair. I gazed with worship in her eyes, And deemed her true and knew her fair.

"Good night," I said, and turned away; She held me with her subtle smile. I saw her red lips whisper "stay," And so I lingered yet awhile.

"I love you, love you, sweet!" I said, She laughed, and whispered, "I love you." I kissed her small mouth, ripe and red, And knew her fair, and deemed her true.

'Twas very, very long ago, And I was young, and so was she; My faith as love was strong, for oh! The maid was all the world to me.

But as the sunset died away And left the heavens cold and blue, So died my dream of love one day. The maid was only fair, not true.

TAKE MY HAND.

Strengthen me for every contest, Let my prayers be not in vain, I would bless Thee, in my sorrow; I would glory in my pain; Make my spirit white-for heaven; Let my soul be purified In the blood that flowed so freely, From the wound in Jesus' side.

Gird my soul, oh! God! for battle, I am weak, O! make me strong; Do not let my courage falter, Though the strife be fierce and long; And upon thy hand, my Father, Let me keep a clinging hold, Till my feet have landed safely, In the city built of gold.

THE WILD BLUE-BELLS.

Came a bouquet from the city, Fragrant, rich and debonair-- Sweet carnation and geranium, Heliotrope and roses rare.

Down beside the crystal river, Where the moss-grown rocks are high, And the ferns, from niche and crevice, Stretch to greet the azure sky;

In the chaste October sunlight, High above the path below, Grew a tuft of lovely blue-bells, Softly wind-swung to and fro.

Reached a dainty hand to grasp them, Bore them home with loving care, Tenderly and proudly placed them 'Mid the flowers so sweet and fair.

But my timid little blue-bells Children of the leafy wild, Dazzled by their city sisters, Turned away and, tearful, smiled.

When, alone, I bent to kiss them, Pleadingly they sighed to me, "Take us, when we die, we pray thee, Back beneath the dear old tree.

"We would sleep where first the sunshine Kissed us in the dewy morn; Where, while soft, warm zephyrs fanned us, Leaf and bud and flower were born."

So I bore them, when they faded, Back to where love sighed for them; Laid them near the ferns and mosses 'Neath the dear old parent stem;--

Deeply grieved that all things lovely Must so soon forever die,-- That upon the gentle blue-bells Winter's cold, deep snows must lie.

And I half arraigned the goodness That made Death king everywhere-- Stretching forth his cruel sceptre-- Lord of sea, and earth, and air.

Summer came, and all the hillsides Wore a shim'ring robe of green; And with rifts of sky and cloudlet Flashed the river's golden sheen.

I was walking the old pathway, When a tiny shout I heard; Harken! was it elfin fairy, Or some truant mocking bird?

No! a family of blue-bells Waved their slender arms on high, Clapped their tiny arms in triumph, Crying, "See! we did not die.

"Never more distrust the Master, Love and Truth His ways attend; Death is but a darkened portal Of a life that ne'er shall end.

"Loved ones, parted from in anguish, Your glad eyes again shall see,-- Brighter than the hopes you cherished Shall the glad fruition be."

A WAIF.

My soul is like a poor caged bird to-night, Beating its wings against the prison bars, Longing to reach the outer world of light, And, all untrammeled, soar among the stars. Wild, mighty thoughts struggle within my soul For utterance. Great waves of passion roll Through all my being. As the lightnings play Through thunder clouds, so beams of blinding light Flash for a moment on my darkened brain-- Quick, sudden, glaring beams, that fade away And leave me in a darker, deeper night.

Oh, poet souls! that struggle all in vain To live in peace and harmony with earth, It cannot be! They must endure the pain Of conscience and of unacknowledged worth, Moving and dwelling with the common herd, Whose highest thought has never strayed as far, Or never strayed beyond the horizon's bar; Whose narrow hearts and souls are never stirred With keenest pleasures, or with sharpest pain; Who rise and eat and sleep, and rise again, Nor question why or wherefore. Men whose minds Are never shaken by wild passion winds; Women whose broadest, deepest realm of thought The bridal veil will cover. Who see not God's mighty work lying undone to-day,-- Work that a woman's hands can do as well Oh, soul of mine; better to live alway In this tumultuous inward pain and strife, Doing the work that in thy reach doth fall, Weeping because thou canst not do it all; Oh, better, my soul, in this unrest to dwell, Than grovel as _they_ grovel on through life:

A FACE AT THE WINDOW.

Once as I wandered down the street I saw at the window a face so sweet; The tiny face of a baby girl With a soft clear eye, and a silken curl. And I looked o'er my shoulder again to see, The sweet, sweet face that smiled on me, With a look in the eyes that seemed to say "I have come from heaven but not to stay."

Adown the street as I walked again I looked for the sweet, sweet face at the pane, But the blind was closed, and I heard it said As I passed along that the child was dead. And a lonely longing came over me For the face that had smiled in its baby glee On me for a moment, before it was hid Under the cruel coffin lid.

O happy baby, O cherub girl! Borne up out of the din and whirl, Out of the sorrow and saddened strife That burdens ever the brightest life. Out of the darkness and out of the gloom A bud, in the garden of God to bloom; Safe from danger, and death and cold, Sheltered forever within the fold.

What have you missed, O dainty dove, By flying so soon to the realms above 7 Missed earth's sorrows, and missed earth's fears; A woman's pains, and a woman's tears; The aching head, and the weary feet; The bitter lees of a cup too sweet; Danger and sickness, and death and loss-- And all the pleasures that are but dross.

Sweet, sweet face, with the soulful eyes, Look from the windows of God's fair skies, Look with these beauteous orbs of thine And draw me nearer the things divine. Walking along life's troubled way, Let me look up, as I looked that day, And know that a fair and cherub face Smiles upon me through leagues of space.

Help me to keep from the snares, my sweet, That lie unnumbered about my feet. Smile when I stumble, that I may rise Cheered by the light of thy lovely eyes. Plead with the Father to make me strong, To keep my steps from the path of wrong, And when my journey of life is done May I see thy face, O cherub one.

SEARCHING.

These quiet Autumn days, My soul, like Noah's dove, on airy wings Goes out and searches for the hidden things Beyond the hills of haze.

With mournful, pleading cries, Above the waters of the voiceless sea That laps the shore of broad Eternity, Day after day, it flies,

Searching, but all in vain, For some stray leaf that it may light upon, And read the future, as the days agone-- Its pleasures, and its pain.

Listening patiently For some voice speaking from the mighty deep, Revealing all the things that it doth keep In secret there for me.

Come back and wait, my soul! Day after day thy search has been in vain. Voiceless and silent o'er the future's plain Its mystic waters roll.

God, seeing, knoweth best, And in His time the waters shall subside, And thou shalt know what lies beneath the tide. Then wait, my soul, and rest.

OUR BLESSINGS.

Sitting to-day in the sunshine, That touched me with fingers of love, I thought of the manifold blessings God scatters on earth, from above; And they seemed, as I numbered them over Far more than we merit or need And all that we lack is the angels To make earth a heaven indeed.

The winter brings long, pleasant evenings, The spring brings a promise of flowers That summer breathes into fruition, And autumn brings glad, golden hours. The woodlands re-echo with music, The moonbeams ensilver the sea; There is sunlight and beauty about us, And the world is as fair as can be.

But mortals are always complaining. Each one thinks his own a sad lot; And forgetting the good things about him, Goes mourning for those he has not. Instead of the star-spangled heavens, We look on the dust at our feet; We drain out the cup that is bitter, Forgetting the one that is sweet.

We mourn o'er the thorn in the flower, Forgetting its odor and bloom; We pass by a garden of blossoms, To weep o'er the dust of the tomb. There are blessings unnumbered about us,-- Like the leaves of the forest they grow; And the fault is our own--not the Giver's-- That we have not an Eden below.

GOING AWAY.

Walking to-day on the Common, I heard a stranger say To a friend who was standing near him, "Do you know I am going away?" I had never seen their faces: May never see them again, But the words the stranger uttered, Stirred me with nameless pain.

For I knew some heart would miss him, Would ache at his "going away!" And the earth would seem all cheerless, For many and many a day. No matter how light my spirit, No matter how glad my heart, If I hear these two words uttered, The tear drops always start.

They are so sad and solemn, So full of a lonely sound: Like dead leaves rustling downward, And dropping upon the ground. Oh, I pity the naked branches, When the skies are dull and gray, And the last leaf whispers softly, "Good bye, I am going away."

In the dreary, dripping Autumn, The wings of the flying birds, As they soar away to the south land, Seem always to say these words. Where ever they may be uttered, They fall with a sob, and sigh; And heartaches follow the sentence, "I am going away, Good bye."