^^^^^ 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Shelf. ^:5..t-t.'^^ 
 
 13S4, 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
1888 
 
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A MOTHER'S SONG 
 
 BY 
 
 , ^{^ 
 
 n. MARY D: BRINE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "STORIES GRANDMA TOLD," " MERRY GO-ROUND," 
 
 "FROM GOLD TO GREY," "PAPA'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS 
 
 SERIES," ETC., ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 MISS C. A. NORTHAM 
 
 CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited 
 
 739 & 741 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 
 

 Copyright, 1886, 
 By O. M. DUNHAM. 
 
 A U rights reserved. 
 
 FREBS OF HUNTER & BEACH, 
 NEW YORK. 
 
TO OUR FRIEND 
 
 MRS. GEORGE ROLAND. 
 
I am sitting at my window ; oh, the world is passing fair 
 
 As I look at it this morning 
 
 In its new, spring-tide adorning. 
 And watch a sun-framed picture as I breathe the scented 
 air 
 
 Which from daisied fields is drifting 
 
 Under smiling skies above. 
 
 Now and then the soft curls lifting 
 
 On a little brow I love. 
 
From the tree-top sings the robin in the orchard near at 
 hand. 
 
 Where 'neath boughs all blossom-laden 
 
 My winsome blue-eyed maiden, 
 With her dimpled face uplifted to the blossoms likes to 
 stand, 
 
 While the pink and white spring treasures 
 
 Spread their dainty shimmering sheen 
 
 My little love's bright beauty 
 
 And the tender skies between. 
 
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Is she watching for the fairies which, we told her, come 
 with spring 
 
 To set the trees a-glowing 
 
 With the pretty blossoms blowing, 
 And to teach the robin red-breast his sweet songs to 
 sing ? 
 
 Ah, the robin can not tell her 
 
 Where the fairies may have flown, 
 
 But he knows no sweeter blossom 
 
 Blooms — than that I call my own. 
 
Not long since from this same window I gazed on fields 
 of snow, 
 
 Where the barren trees bore only 
 
 On their tossing limbs so lonely — 
 The memory of a beauty, winter-banished long ago. 
 
 E'en my heart was chilled and dreary ; 
 
 I was worn with wild unrest, 
 
 All so languid and so weary 
 
 Lay the blossom on my breast — 
 
Which a glad spring-time had brought me from a land 
 most fair and sweet. 
 
 As I longed, with arras upreaching, 
 
 For the gentle, holy teaching 
 Learned by clasping baby fingers, and by guiding baby 
 feet. 
 
 But the winter winds were cruel, 
 
 And my blossom was so frail. 
 
 And when came the white, white snow-drifts, 
 
 Baby's cheek grew wan and pale. 
 
Sweetest songs, they say, are surely those which hold a 
 minor key. 
 
 And no life is perfect ever — 
 
 So say wise men — which is never 
 Touched by sorrow's cloud whatever the fair morning's 
 promise be. 
 
 So I pondered in my grieving, 
 
 As the weary days went by, 
 
 Till the first blue violet wakened 
 
 Underneath a spring-tide sk}'. 
 
Then I knew the rod uphfted o'er my droophig head so 
 long 
 
 Had been lowered, and confessing 
 All the wondrous love and blessing, 
 
 With the earth's new jubilate all my heart broke out in 
 song. 
 
 So we watched — we watched together, 
 As the days in beauty grew, 
 And each sunbeam seemed reflected 
 In the baby eyes so blue. 
 
 
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 And as now I watch my darling in the orchard there at 
 play, 
 
 Surely life to me seems sweeter. 
 
 And its sacred trust completer 
 For the minor chords of sorrow which the spring-time 
 took away. 
 
 And I lay a silent blessing 
 
 On the wings of each sweet breeze 
 
 As it goes to kiss the forehead 
 
 Of mv blossom 'mongst the trees. 
 
Under the hedge the June roses blow, 
 
 Red June roses — all in a row. 
 
 Under the roses a dear little face, 
 
 Where dimples and smiles leave many a trace, 
 
 " Rosebud " and roses all blooming together — 
 
 Out in the shine of the sweet June weather. 
 
Gayly the robin his morning song sings, 
 Pluming and stretching his feathers and wings ; 
 Swiftly the bee seeks the charms of the clover 
 While sunshine is spreading the green meadow over. 
 Oh, many the beautiful things that I see ! 
 But fairest of all things is baby to me ! 
 
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Two little hands I see, twining the roses 
 
 With daisies and buttercups, nature's sweet posies. 
 
 AVeaving a garland as bright as can be 
 
 For baby's mamma ! 'Tis a secret, you see — 
 
 But a yellow young butterfly dancing this way 
 
 Told some one the secret of baby's, to-day. 
 
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 / 
 
 / 
 
 Under the hedge where the June roses blow, 
 Nods the white sun-bonnet — to-and-fro. 
 Under the sun-bonnet laughing I see 
 Merry young eyes throwing glances at me, 
 And little plump fingers toss kisses to meet 
 The message I send those sweet kisses to greet. 
 
And now, o'er the roses so fragrant, so red — 
 My darling bows low, and yet lower her head. 
 And close to the glow of her warm, dimpling face, 
 She crushes their beauty with sweet baby grace. 
 Inhaling and holding within her own heart 
 The perfume from theirs of which she is a part. 
 
Oh, fragrant June roses ! not sweeter are ye 
 Than the rosebud the Father hath given to me ! 
 God grant she may grow 'neath the sunshine of love 
 Into all that is pure for the garden above. 
 Her dear heart be guarded from evil's sad power, 
 Till the bud blossoms out in the full, perfect flower. 
 
Chasing the butterflies over the meadow, 
 
 Saw I my baby a short while ago; 
 In grasses as high as her head she was playing 
 
 At hide and at seek from the sunshine's warm glow 
 Filling her apron with sweet-scented clover, 
 
 Pausing to look at the wild honey bee, 
 Calling the birdies that soared far above her — 
 
 Thus has my little one wandered from me. 
 
Butterflies, butterflies, where is your playmate ? 
 
 High, nodding grasses, oh, where did she run ? 
 Poor, wilted clovers ! which way did she wander 
 
 After she dropped you to die in the sun ? 
 Honey bee, honey bee, pause from your duties. 
 
 Pray did you frighten my blossom away — 
 Thinking to steal from her red mouth more sweetness 
 
 Than can be gathered from flowers each day ? 
 

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Birdies, oh birds, that go skimming and soaring 
 
 Far overhead, did you bear my wee love 
 On your swift wings to the city of cloudland — 
 
 Up to the azure skies shining above ? 
 Sunbeams and shadows spread over the meadows ; 
 
 Pretty wild flowers bloom here and bloom there ; 
 Sweet summer peace o'er the landscape is brooding 
 
 Surely my baby is safe in their care. 
 
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 Hark ! what is that which the summer breeze brings me 
 
 As I stand Ustening ? It is the sweet voice 
 Which in its merriment gleefully ringing, 
 
 Makes all the mother-love in me rejoice. 
 Yonder I see her, my own straying lammie. 
 
 Sun-kissed, and breeze-blown ; the bright tangled 
 curls 
 Crowned with the blossoms and leaves she has gathered. 
 
 This queen of all blossoms, my dearest of girls ! 
 
And who tore the pretty white dress ? Ah, the bushes 
 Are hfting their blossom-wreathed arms in dehght, 
 And proudly exclaim, " Who could blame us for catch- 
 ing 
 And holding, for love, the wee darling so bright, 
 As she tripped on her way o'er the fields ? " And the 
 breezes 
 Come rustling and whispering, " JFe tangled her 
 hair ! " 
 And the sunbeams come dancing //u-/r mischief confess- 
 ing— 
 " JFc browned with our kisses the soft cheek so fair." 
 
So now in my arms do I lift the small maiden 
 
 So ragged and wear)- ; and bear her safe home. 
 For the twilight advances this way, and my baby 
 
 Adown the soft valley of dreamland must roam. 
 Good-by to the sunbeams, the breeze, and the bushes, 
 
 Good-by to the butterflies, birdies and bees ; 
 Good-by to the poor faded clovers and blossoms 
 
 Let evening her lullaby sing in the trees. 
 
Oh, the shadows are gathering so fast, so fast ! 
 The beautiful daytuiie is hiding at last, 
 And up in the skies 
 Stars of silver and gold, 
 Are watching all lambkins 
 So safe in the fold. 
 
 Comes also a message with coming of night ; 
 A message from Slumberland : Blue eyes so bright 
 Grow drowsy and heavy, a wee, golden head 
 Half nodding — should surely be ready for bed. 
 And for lullaby— O ! 
 
But all so reluctant from playtime to part 
 My baby for Slumberland cannot yet start. 
 She must bid a good-night 
 To her treasures, each one 
 Ere she's willing to rest 
 From day's frolic and fun. 
 
 She must croon her sweet language to dolly awhile, 
 Her young face aglow with its dimples and smile, 
 As she sits like a queen midst her toys on the floor, 
 "While the message from Slumberland cometh once more 
 With its lullaby— O ! 
 
Now deeper and deeper the shadows have grown ; 
 The last sleepy bird to its snug nest has flown ! 
 And baby looks out 
 At the fields, as they lie 
 All lonely and still 
 'Neath the star-lighted sky. 
 And sleepily murmurs a plaintive good-night 
 To her favorite meadows, now hidden from sight. 
 And wonders, perhaps, where the merry bright day. 
 With her playmates, the daisies, have hidden away — 
 With lullaby— O ! 
 
And now she has hfted her dear arms to me, 
 So tired, and ready for Slumberland she ! 
 I nestle the sweet golden head on my breast, 
 And chant with a lullaby gently to rest 
 The baby whose presence makes sunshine too bright 
 To be hidden from mc e'en by shadows of night. 
 And the dream-angel comes from the starlight to woo 
 The spirit of sleep to the baby-eyes blue, 
 By lullaby— O ! 
 
Now wandering in the land of dreams 
 
 My little one 
 Will heed no more her mother's care 
 
 Till night is done. 
 May heaven guard her thro' the night, 
 While shine the stars so calm, so bright ! 
 And with the morning's gladsome light 
 
 And joyous sun — 
 Give back again to my fond care 
 My spring-time blossom — sweet and fair. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 861 997