Class __^6:/<g.^/ 
 
 Book ilX2J^^ 
 
 Copghtlj" 
 
 COPVRIGHT DEPOSrr. 
 
LULLABY CASTLE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
LULLABY CASTLE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 BLANCHE MARY CHANNING 
 
 Author of 
 ** Winifred West," " A Heroine of 1812," etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1904 
 
SEP 16 1904 
 JJooyrtght Entry 
 
 CLASS a, XXo. Nd. 
 
 .Cg 
 
 Copyright, 1904, 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Publislied October, 1904 
 
 THE UNIVEESITY PEESB 
 CAUBBIDOE, U.S. A. 
 

 Dedicated to 
 LOUISA HIGGINSON PUTNAM 
 
 AND 
 
 FRANCES CABOT PUTNAM 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 '' I ^HESE little poems were written by one who 
 was with us, and who has left us ; by one 
 who in simplicity, purity of heart, and innocence of 
 mind was a very child herself. 
 
 She saw clearly, — child-nature was no mystery to 
 her ; and, in what she has written for children, so 
 perfectly, so intimately has she entered into their 
 thoughts and feelings, that the appeal to them is 
 immediate, irresistible. 
 
 And to the rest of us, who must look back upon 
 our childhood, the years roll away, while the child 
 which dwells in us all, hidden, — sometimes, alas ! 
 forgotten, — awakes again and responds to the charm 
 and delicate appeal of these little poems, while, be- 
 cause of them, the days seem longer, the sun shines 
 more brightly, and the shadows sink back and are 
 forgotten. 
 
 To us, who were given tfie privilege of knowing 
 this greatly gifted woman whose ideals were so high 
 
viii Preface. 
 
 and who lived always so close to them, these and 
 other poems and stories, which were left as a 
 precious heritage, are a consolation now, while in 
 the future they will be our constant inspiration 
 toward "greater grace of living." 
 
 Alice Aspinwall. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preface by Alice Aspinwall vii 
 
 Lullaby Castle. 
 
 Lullaby Castle 3 
 
 •f- The Dream-Gate 5 
 
 The Dream-Ship 6 
 
 L- The Sea of Sleep 7 
 
 The Bird's Lullaby 8 
 
 Baby's Counting 10 
 
 Sleepy-Time 11 
 
 HowThey Played "Dragon" 12 
 
 The Fairy's Birthday 13 
 
 ''Fight Your Own Size" 15 
 
 Dat Little Coon Baby ob Pete's 17 
 
 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 The Christmas Baby 21 
 
 The Baby's Blessing 23 
 
 The Regiment Baby 26 
 
X Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Coral-and-Bells 28 
 
 Reflections 31 
 
 The Little Face at the Window 33 
 
 " An Angel Unawares " 34 
 
 A Flower Gathered for Heaven 36 
 
 "Why Not?" 38 
 
 The Angel of the Nursery 40 
 
 Memories 42 
 
 To the Linnet 44 
 
 To a Harebell 45 
 
 Summer-Land 46 
 
 In Autumn 49 
 
 A Farewell to My Country-House . » c o . 50 
 
 Snow 52 
 
 The Nest 54 
 
 Looking Back 55 
 
 "Work for the Master" 57 
 
 "If Thou . . . should'st be extreme to mark in- 
 iquities, O Lord, who shall stand ?" ... 58 
 
 "Keep Thou My Hand" 59 
 
 "In There" 61 
 
I. 
 JLttUabt €amt. 
 
LULLABY CASTLE. 
 
 T ULLABY Castle is strong and high, 
 
 -*— ' With turrets that soar to the purple sky. 
 
 Lullaby Castle is strong and deep, 
 
 With moat and drawbridge and donjon-keep ; 
 
 And the stairs wind up and the stairs wind down 
 
 At Lullaby Castle in By-low Town. 
 
 All the babies of all the world — 
 
 Babies straight-haired and babies curled — 
 
 Babies dark-skinned and babies fair, 
 
 All the babies from everywhere, 
 
 Black-eyed and blue-eyed and gray-eyed and brown, 
 
 Know Lullaby Castle in By -low Town. 
 
 When the long day droops to its sleepy hour, 
 When the petals close in the little flower. 
 Over the drawbridge and through the gate. 
 Some of them early and some of them late, 
 Along the corridor — up the stair — 
 To the big, big bedroom of " otherwhere," 
 
Lullaby Castle. 
 
 The beautiful room so warm and white, 
 Where the star-lamps shine with a softened light, 
 The babies go to their nests of down. 
 At Lullaby Castle in By-low Town. 
 
The Dream-Gate. 
 
 THE DREAM-GATE. 
 
 " T ITTLE white gate, little white gate, 
 
 -*— ' Swing on your hinges and let me go through ! 
 
 I see the green gardens, I smell the green gardens, 
 
 Children are there, and I want to come too ! 
 
 Swing on your hinges and let me go through, 
 
 Little white gate ! 
 
 " Little white gate, little white gate, 
 
 Swing on your hinges and shut out the day — 
 The task and the trouble, the sums that look double. 
 The books and the lessons — oh, shut them away ! 
 Swing on your hinges and shut out the day, 
 Little white gate ! 
 
 " Little white gate, little white gate. 
 
 Keep you tight closed, now you 've let me go 
 through ! 
 The gardens are bright with the lily-bells white, 
 The ruddy-cheeked roses are jewelled with dew. 
 Keep you tight closed, now you 've let me go 
 through, 
 
 Little white gate ! " 
 
Lullaby Castle. 
 
 THE DREAM-SHIP. 
 
 THE Dream-ship minds no stormy gales, 
 Her masts are all of gold, 
 With splendor of wide silken sails, 
 
 Red-rosy, fold on fold. 
 They spread below, they spread aloft, 
 
 They 're never reefed nor furled, 
 And they will bear us safe and soft, 
 The other side the world. 
 
 We shall not see the shadow crew 
 
 That work among the spars. 
 But watch the topmast sailing through 
 
 The shoals of shining stars. 
 From point to point of silver light, 
 
 Through purple gulfs and bays, 
 As we below a-gliding go 
 
 Along the water-ways. 
 
The Sea of Sleep. 
 
 THE SEA OF SLEEP. 
 
 THE sea of sleep is exceeding deep, 
 And wide as the starry sky, 
 The rocks are rough and the slopes are steep, 
 The rivers run and the small brooks creep, 
 
 But they rest there by-and-by. 
 And we will sail on the sea of sleep, 
 Little sweetheart and I ! 
 
 The sea of sleep stretches far, so far, 
 
 Though they start in their strength and pride, 
 
 Each stately ship, with its guiding star, 
 
 Standing away from the harbor-bar. 
 None reaches the other side. 
 
 But many and many the voyagers are 
 At full of the slumber-tide. 
 
 And the beautiful Dream-ship lingers yet, 
 
 Waiting for you and me, 
 Her spars are stout and her sails are set. 
 Her decks are dry, but her prow is wet 
 
 With the kiss of the clasping sea. 
 We will sail to the islands of Fair-forget 
 
 And the island of Yet-may-be ! 
 
iMllo.hy Castle. 
 
 THE BIRD'S LULLABY. 
 
 H 
 
 Sings the beautiful big brown thrush 
 To his drowsy mate on the nest, 
 With the warm eggs under her breast. 
 "Hush! hush ! hush !" 
 Sings the beautiful big brown thrush. 
 
 " Hark ! hark ! hark ! 
 
 How the bright brook runs in the dark ! 
 
 It will not stop nor stay, 
 
 It never will lose its way — 
 
 Hark ! hark ! hark ! 
 
 How the bright brook runs in the dark ! 
 
 " Still, still, still. 
 
 The white moon sits on the hill. 
 
 Her face is kind and fair 
 
 In the mist of her silver hair. 
 
 Still, still, still. 
 
 The white moon sits on the hill. 
 
The Bird's Lullaby. 
 
 " Sleep, sleep, sleep. 
 
 Till the young day comes to peep, 
 
 Till his rosy fingers touch 
 
 The nest that I love so much, 
 
 Till the young day comes to peep - 
 
 Sleep, sleep, sleep !" 
 
10 Lullaby Castle. 
 
 BABY'S COUNTING. 
 
 ONE little, two little, three little sheep, 
 Down where the clover grows rich and 
 deep — 
 Three little sheep in the purple clover. 
 Count them, Baby, over and over — 
 Four little, five little, six little sheep, 
 Where the sweet blossoms grow thick and deep — 
 Seven little, eight little, nine little sheep. 
 Nibbling heads of the purple clover — 
 Hush ! the baby is fast asleep 
 And so the counting is over ! " 
 
Sleepy- Time. 1 1 
 
 SLEEPY-TIME. 
 
 " \\7'HAT 'S the matter, Pansy-face ? 
 Can't yon keep awake 
 When I tell a story 
 
 For the story's sake ? " 
 (Nod goes the curly head — 
 
 Bright eyes blink ; 
 The Sandman has been on his rounds, 
 I think !) 
 
 " Come away, then, Pansy-face ! 
 
 Come away to bed. 
 That 's the very safest place, 
 
 For the curly head — " 
 (Tripping, tumbling up the stairs, — 
 
 Stepping on my dress ; 
 The Sandman has been on his rounds, 
 
 I guess !) 
 
12 Lullaby Castle, 
 
 HOW THEY PLAYED "DRAGON." 
 
 LITTLE Ah Lee and little Oh Me 
 Played in the shade of a mulberry-tree. 
 Said little Ah Lee to little Oh Me : 
 " A terrible dragon I 'm going to be, 
 And I '11 catch you and eat you up, little Oh Me ! " 
 
 " Please don't, and I '11 give you a rosebud," said 
 
 she. 
 '* But dragons don't care about rosebuds," said he. 
 " Then I '11 give you my tiny silk slippers," said she. 
 "Why, dragons don't ever wear shoes/" laughed Ah 
 
 Lee. 
 " Then I '11 give you my necklace of coral," said she. 
 " But dragons don't want any coral, you see ! " 
 
 " How silly of dragons ! Then how would it be 
 If I gave you a big currant cake ? " asked Oh Me. 
 " Why, that would be splendid ! " cried little Ah 
 Lee. 
 
The Fairy s Birthday. 13 
 
 THE FAIRY'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 npITA was a fairy fair; 
 -■- Eyes like blue Forget-me-not ; 
 Like the Daffodils, her hair, 
 Blooming in a sunny spot. 
 
 When her birthday came around, 
 Sitting on a toadstool red, 
 
 Little Tita might be found, 
 
 With her presents round her spread. 
 
 For the Fairies, far and near, 
 Hurrying on sheeny wings 
 
 Flew to carry Tita dear 
 INIany, many pretty things. 
 
 Brought her necklaces of dew ; 
 
 Early frost's fern-patterned lace ; 
 Sapphire rings of gentian blue ; 
 
 Cowslip thimble in a case ; 
 
14 Lullaby Castle. 
 
 Acorn-cups in saucers green ; 
 
 Oak-leaf for a tennis bat ; 
 (Such a ball was never seen ; 
 
 Fairies use a pea for that ! ) 
 
 But she likes her doll the best, 
 With its tiny roseleaf wings, 
 
 And she holds it to her breast, 
 While she rocks herself and sings 
 
 "Bj-by, lullaby. 
 When the stars are in the sky, 
 When the sun 's behind the hill. 
 When the little birds are still. 
 When the silver moon is high, 
 By-by, lullaby ! " 
 
''Fight your Own Size,'' 15 
 
 "FIGHT YOUR O^VN SIZE." 
 
 GRANDPA, he says, says he — 
 (Grandpa, he knows ; 
 Smart as a man can be ; 
 
 What he says, goes — ) 
 Grandpa, he says to me : 
 
 " Sonny, be wise : 
 Ef ye must fight," says he, 
 " Fight your own size ! 
 
 "Thet little feller thar,— 
 
 Him with the curls, 
 Fauntleroy collar, an' 
 
 Face like a girl's, — 
 Say he plays monkey-tricks, 
 
 Tells tales, an' lies? 
 Wal, he 's too small to fix ; 
 
 Fight your own size I 
 
 " Thet little lass of ten — 
 
 Yes, she is breezy ! 
 Plague of your life ; but then 
 
 Best take it easy. 
 
16 Lullaby Castle, 
 
 Ef a girl treats ye bad, 
 
 Treat the girl kinder. 
 ' Makes ye so tearin' mad ? ' 
 
 Wal, never mind her ! 
 
 " Manhood ain't growin' tall ; 
 
 It 's bein' manlv ; 
 For them that 's weak an' small, 
 
 Standin' up gran'ly. 
 Like them old knights, ye know. 
 
 It 's to despise 
 Meanness an' wrong, an' so, 
 
 Fight your own size ! " 
 
Dat Little Coon Baby oh Petes. 17 
 
 DAT LITTLE COON BABY OB PETE'S. 
 
 DAT little coon baby ob Pete's — 
 Ah tell yuh fer true, she is smalit ! 
 She knows bofe her bans, an' her feets, 
 An' her face — she knows ebery paht, 
 She '11 pint to her eyes, an' her nose ; 
 
 An' when yuh say, " Where is yuh mouf ? " 
 She larfs out so pretty, an' shows 
 De cutest two teef in de Souf. 
 
 Dat little coon baby ob Pete's — 
 
 She coos, an' she goos, an' she smiles. 
 He call her " his sweetest ob sweets ! " 
 
 Dere ain't not a wish ob dat chile's 
 But what he mus' do it right soon. 
 
 Ef she took in her haid she would cry 
 Fer dat big silber dollah, de moon, — 
 
 He 'd want ter climb inter de sky ! 
 
 An' Pete — he warn't allers dat way : 
 Sometimes he were ugly an' mean ; 
 
 Like de sun on a gloomisome day, 
 Dat little coon baby hab been. 
 
18 Lullaby Castle. 
 
 De way she 've improved up her paw, — 
 
 clar' but de record it beats ! 
 An' she gwine ter improve him some more, 
 Dat little coon baby ob Pete's. 
 

THE CHRISTMAS BABY. 
 
 LONG since our cradle ceased to rock ; 
 We laid the baby clothes away, — 
 The dainty white, long-skirted frock, 
 The knitted blanket, soft and gay. 
 
 " We have no babe." The Christ-Child heard. 
 
 And Mary Mother in the skies, 
 A Christmas gift their hands prepared — 
 
 A wondrous, beautiful surprise, 
 
 God's greatest miracle and best. 
 
 His tenderest thought, — a little child ; 
 
 A new bird in the empty nest ; 
 The past and present reconciled. 
 
 And blest the babe ^Wth special dower, 
 The love laid up thro' all the years, 
 
 Slow-growing, breaks in sudden flower — 
 A thing of mingled smiles and tears. 
 
 And now the cradle rocks once more ; 
 
 Above it bends the sturdy brother ; 
 The fair young sister leanis its love. 
 
 Herself a tender second-mother. 
 
22 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 And once again a little child 
 
 Shall teach the old immortal story : 
 
 Good-will to men, and mercy mild ; 
 Peace be on earth ; to God be glory ! 
 
The Bahys Blessing. 23 
 
 THE BABY'S BLESSING. 
 
 IT was a day when heart and mind 
 Within me waged a kindred strife, 
 And both their subtle force combined 
 
 To cast a gloom on life ; 
 The sunny skies seemed hard as brass ; 
 All nature spread her stores in vain ; 
 I trod the dewdrops on the grass 
 As though they caused me pain. 
 
 While fretful thus and ill at ease, 
 
 I wandered on with no intent, 
 I came upon a grove of trees. 
 
 Where sunbeams came and went 
 And made a golden net to catch 
 
 The dancing flight of purple shade ; 
 It was a pretty wrestling match, 
 
 By light and shadow played. 
 
 And here, amid a bower of green, 
 His starlike eyes upraised to mine, 
 
 There stood an angel, as I ween. 
 He seemed so near divine. 
 
24 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 And yet he wore a poor disguise, 
 The robe of earthly babyhood, 
 
 As, fairer than his parent skies, 
 On alien soil he stood. 
 
 Then, as he saw my wondering face, 
 
 Fixed on him with look amazed. 
 He softly made the sign of grace. 
 
 With tiny hand upraised. 
 A smile, half bred of heaven's calm, 
 
 Half arch with human feeling rife, 
 Smote, friendly as the righteous balm. 
 
 Upon my inner life. 
 
 That sign of blessing which he made. 
 
 An instant impulse, unawares, 
 Drove from my heart its gloomy shade 
 
 And peopled it with prayers. 
 It told me that the Lord was near. 
 
 E'en present in His little child, 
 And, hid behind my doubting fear. 
 
 Eternal pity smiled. 
 
 Oh, infant soldier of the Cross, 
 
 Who held Christ's blessing up to view. 
 
 How many a soul is saved from loss 
 By ministers like you ! 
 
The Baby's Blessing. 25 
 
 Go on, uucouscious angel band, 
 
 Keep spotless robes and hearts as white, 
 Lead older spirits by the hand, 
 
 Into the world of light. 
 
26 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 THE REGIMENT BABY. 
 
 OUR little Regiment Baby 
 Was one of the rank and file. 
 Safe in the baggage wagon, 
 
 She journeyed many a mile. 
 She never was sick nor sorry 
 
 And never gave up nor cried, 
 But watched us march, we fancied, 
 With nearly our Colonel's pride ! 
 
 She admired the yellow braiding, 
 
 And the scarlet coats so gay ; 
 And she used to pull our buttons 
 
 In a really charming way ! 
 She woke with the early bugle. 
 
 And she loved the fife and drum, 
 And thought the little drummer 
 
 A bit of a baby chum. 
 
 She helped to keep us steady. 
 
 With those clear blue eyes of hers. 
 
 And often preached us sermons 
 As good as a minister's. 
 
The Regiment Baby. 
 
 We never dared go near her, 
 If we 'd had too much to drink ; 
 
 She kept us from the Guard House 
 Many a time, I think ! 
 
 God bless the Regiment Baby ! 
 
 She did us a lot of good. 
 We wanted to keep her with us, 
 
 And we used to hope we should ; 
 But they needed baby Yonder, 
 
 And the bugle called " Retreat ! " 
 Or ever the world's long marches 
 
 Had wearied her little feet. 
 
 We miss her smile and her prattle, 
 
 The touch of her rose-leaf hand ; 
 But we know 't is well with " Baby," 
 
 At peace in the tearless land. 
 It was hard for us to lose her. 
 
 But maybe — we cannot tell — 
 Our baby had won promotion 
 
 Because she had done so well. 
 
28 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 THE CORAL-AND-BELLS. 
 
 IT lay in the window 'mid scores of old things, — 
 Old ruddy-gold lockets and bracelets and rings ; 
 Old miniatures, faded, of faces once fair 
 (The back sometimes holding an old lock of hair) ; 
 
 Old fans and old feathers ; old satin ; old lace 
 (A time-mellowed marvel of intricate grace) ; 
 Old sandal-wood carvings ; old coins and old shells ; 
 And there, in the midst, the old " Coral-and-Bells " ! 
 
 I looked at it once, and I looked at it long. 
 It seemed to my fancy a meanness — a wrong — 
 Which might be regretted, long after, too late, 
 To leave this old Coral-and-Bells to its fate. 
 
 I sauntered in slowly, and questioned the price ; 
 I took up the trinket and laid it down twice ; 
 Determined to leave it, accounting it dear, 
 Then turned back again, as a voice in my ear 
 
 Had whispered, "Go buy it! 'tis well worth the 
 
 cost ! " 
 (And, oh, had I left it, what had I not lost ? 
 The whisper which ever most wisely impels 
 Surely drew me to buy that old Coral-and-Bells.) 
 
The Coral-and-Bells. 29 
 
 I carried it home and there at leisure surveyed. 
 'T was chased and embellished and daintily made ; 
 The baby who owned it had used it in truth, 
 And left on the silver the dint of a tooth. 
 
 Who was it, I wondered, — some prim little man 
 Of the quaint-dressing days of my lady. Queen Anne, 
 With stiffly-starched apron, and cap of soft lace. 
 Surrounding the curve of his peach-blossom face? 
 
 Or, maybe, no boy, but a sw^eet baby-girl. 
 The down on her forehead beginning to curl. 
 With dimpled pink cheeks, and brown, starry-bright 
 
 eyes, 
 And mouth like a rosebud for color and size ? 
 
 The vision was fair, but it faded away. 
 
 My big empty house seemed more empty that day ; 
 
 I wished, in the superabundance of space. 
 
 For some one to come and enliven the place. 
 
 The loneliness pressed on my spirits at night ; 
 It pressed on me still by the next morning's light. 
 The longer I waited, I felt it the more ; 
 I wondered I never had felt it before ! 
 
 That Coral-and-Bells ! It had started a train 
 Of musings which could not be silenced again, 
 The end of which found me set out on my way 
 To visit an Orphanage long that very day. 
 
30 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 Oh, pitiful spectacle ! Childhood bereft ! 
 Wee, wistful young faces on right hand and left ; 
 Some dull and indiff'rent ; some weary and sad ; 
 Some passively patient ; some thoughtlessly glad. 
 
 But there, in the midst of a long, crowded room, 
 Fresh-hued as a daisy in infantile bloom, 
 Her hazel eyes bright with a luminous gleam. 
 There stood my girl-baby — the child of my dream ! 
 
 What need to say more ? She is perched on my 
 
 knee, 
 " To watch Mama writing," — and, laughing with 
 
 glee, 
 Sets seal to the record my manuscript tells 
 By patting my cheek with the Coral-and-Bells ! 
 
Reflections. 31 
 
 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 MY baby sat on the floor. 
 His big blue eyes were full of wonder, 
 For he had never seen before 
 
 That baby in the mirror-door. 
 What kept those two, so near, asunder ? 
 
 My baby smiled ; those rosy lips 
 
 At once returned the pretty greeting ; 
 
 He touched them with his finger-tips, 
 The shining surface moves and slips. 
 
 What kept their outstretched hands from 
 meeting ? 
 
 At last he sighed ; there stole a shade 
 Across his face, perplexed and troubled. 
 
 And then he laughed, though half afraid. 
 Diverted half, and half dismayed, 
 
 To see his every gesture doubled. 
 
 He leaned forward that golden head 
 The mirror's border framed within, 
 
 Until two cheeks, like roses red. 
 Lay side by side, then softly said : 
 
 " I can't get out, can you come in ? " 
 
32 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems, 
 
 Oh, do we never when in doubt, 
 Or burdened with a sense of sin, 
 
 From our perplexed selves look out, 
 And call to pleasant things without : 
 
 '^ I can't get out, can you come in ? " 
 
 We feel disheartened and confined 
 In dungeons by ourselves erected, 
 
 With self-raised motes of worry blind, 
 While all within us seems combined 
 
 To hush the answer we expected. 
 
 The good we want and cannot reach. 
 We see through darkened glass within, 
 
 And call upon it in the speech 
 My baby little thought to teach : 
 
 " I can't get out, can you come in ? " 
 
The Little Face at the Window. 33 
 
 THE LITTLE FACE AT THE WINDOW 
 
 IT came with the glhit of the sunshine, 
 And flutter of cherry-bloom white ; 
 A fair little face at the window, 
 As tender and spotless and bright. 
 
 And when all the blossoms were scattered, 
 And ripe, rosy fruit took their place. 
 
 The same little face at the window 
 
 Peeped out through the curtains of lace. 
 
 The snowflakes fell fast in the garden ; 
 
 The leaves were all faded and sere, 
 And the same little face at the window 
 
 Smiled out on the darkening year. 
 
 Oh, innocent eyes at the window. 
 Oh, eyes that are guileless and gay. 
 
 Will you always look forth so serenely. 
 As the seasons of life roll away ? 
 
 Look up to the face of your Saviour ; 
 
 Go forth in the light of His Sun ; 
 And life shall be bright at its ending, 
 
 As now when its days are begun. 
 
 3 
 
34 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 "AN ANGEL UNAWARES." 
 
 QHE came when summer roses threw 
 ^ A crimson blaze across the lawn, 
 And summer skies, serenely blue, 
 
 Glowed down on golden fields of corn. 
 She came, an answer to our prayers. 
 
 To be an angel unawares, — 
 
 A sweet, pure presence in the place ; 
 
 A bright embodiment of day ; 
 The secret of a simple grace 
 
 To smooth the furrows of the way ; 
 A loving heart for others' cares. 
 
 An infant angel unawares. 
 
 The lustre of two soft, gray eyes, 
 
 The echo of a laugh of glee. 
 The beauty of a glad surprise. 
 
 Are all that time has spared to me, 
 For I am left with tears and prayers 
 
 To mourn my angel unawares. 
 
An Angel Unawares." 35 
 
 Yet ever through the minor chords 
 To which I tune my shattered days, 
 
 There comes a whisper of sweet words, 
 A sadder swell of love and praise ; 
 
 And whence these strange and heavenly airs, 
 But from my angel unawares ? 
 
 Hope's rainbow spans the fading sky. 
 Where youth's bright sun is sinking low, 
 
 And peaceful fields of promise lie 
 Beyond the golden after-glow. 
 
 Where, safe from earth and worldly cares, 
 Abides my angel unawares. 
 
36 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 A FLOWER GATHERED FOR HEAVEN. 
 
 HE was like the flower that blossoms, 
 Fresh and pure, amid the snows, 
 Born to shed a fragrance round him 
 Like the tender Christmas Rose ; 
 And ere long the sacred dewdrops 
 
 From his brow had died away, 
 He was gathered for the gardens 
 Of the Palace far away. 
 
 We were left, and he was taken ; 
 
 We were left, we thought, alone ; 
 But a glory shone around us 
 
 From the jewels of the throne. 
 And when in the night we wakened. 
 
 With a feeling of despair. 
 Breaths of heaven fanned our faces. 
 
 And we felt that he was there 1 
 
 It was sad to lose our darling — 
 He, our first-born and our boy ; 
 
 But we feel our sorrows lightened 
 In the knowledge of his joy. 
 
A Flower gathered for Heaven. 37 
 
 For we know that he is happy 
 In the Shepherd's lovmg arms, 
 
 Safe from blight of sin and sorrow, 
 Sheltered from earth's rude alarms. 
 
 Gentle eyes are ever watching 
 
 From the city's pearly gates, 
 Little hands stretched out to beckon 
 
 To the loving heart that waits ; 
 He is watching, looking, longing, 
 
 For the breaking of the day. 
 He will meet us in the morning. 
 
 When the shadows flee away. 
 
38 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 "WHY NOT?" 
 
 HE leant against the window pane, 
 With brimming eyes too full to see 
 The crystal javelins of rain 
 Or me. 
 
 He did not note the busy birds ; 
 The world seemed one wide, wat'ry blot ; 
 His sweet lips pouted forth the words : 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " The murmur once again 
 Between two sobbing breaths came low : 
 " I might go out in this warm rain, 
 I know 1 " 
 
 I went and knelt beside the child ; 
 
 I kissed his soft cheeks, dewy red ; 
 
 Until he ceased to pout, and smiled 
 
 Instead. 
 
 And presently the summer shower, 
 Spanned by a rainbow, passed away. 
 My boy was out in half an hour 
 At play. 
 
''Why not?'' 39 
 
 I heard his merry shouts of glee, 
 Which told the recent trial forgot ; 
 And yet his words came back to me, 
 '' Why not ? " 
 
 The question we too often ask. 
 With bitter tears and rebel heart. 
 When God has set for us a task 
 Apart. 
 
 That hardest task, to watch and wait, 
 To hear the distant battle strife, 
 Like blind men sitting at the gate 
 Of life. 
 
 And so we faithlessly complain, 
 With brimming eyes too full to see 
 How God's great love and our great pain 
 Agree. 
 
 But let us wait, when life's last hour 
 Brings near the dawn of perfect day, 
 And sorrow passes — like the shower — 
 Away. 
 
 God's mercy, shining on our tears. 
 Shall rainbow tint the darkest spot. 
 And solve the problem of the years — 
 "Why not?" 
 
40 The Christmas Baby and Other Po&nis. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE NURSERY. 
 
 HE sits in the shadowy corner, 
 With wings of a silvery sheen, 
 Our beautiful nursery angel, 
 
 Whose presence is felt, but not seen. 
 
 We know he is there in the morning ; 
 
 When the red light creeps o'er the sill, 
 His kisses fall warm with the sunbeams 
 
 On childish brows slumbering still. 
 
 We know he keeps guard by our darlings ; 
 
 All through the long watches of night 
 The silvery wings are unfolded 
 
 Above the bed-canopies white. 
 
 But we feel him most near in the gloaming. 
 
 And fancy his starry blue eyes 
 Shine out, in the purpling twilight, 
 
 With looks that are loving and wise. 
 
 Our beautiful nursery angel. 
 
 The first little bird in our nest, — 
 
 We thought he was lost when God called him ; 
 He 's nearer to us than the rest. 
 
The Angel of the Nursery. 41 
 
 For we feel how God lets him revisit 
 The scenes of his babyhood's joys, 
 
 And watch o'er his brothers and sisters 
 At play with his own little toys. 
 
 And we think, though he is now an angel,* 
 The lips which are hallowed to praise 
 
 Unfolded from their flowerlike sweetness 
 To smile on such innocent plays. 
 
 Our nursery basks in the sunlight ; 
 
 It echoes with laughter and mirth ; 
 And we thank God for each of our children, 
 
 But most for our angel on earth. 
 
42 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 I USED to meet her by the burn 
 That runs o'er silver shingles, 
 With many a bend, and many a turn, 
 Among its mossy dingles, — 
 
 A little maid with startled eyes, 
 And cheeks as brown as berries, 
 
 Lips parted in her shy surprise, 
 And red as ripened cherries. 
 
 She was a grave and silent child, 
 And yet she liked our meeting. 
 
 She seldom spoke, but always smiled 
 An answer to my greeting. 
 
 She brought me harebells, blue and white, 
 And sprays of purple heather, 
 
 And stems of foxgloves, crimson bright, 
 And wild rose tied together. 
 
 Full many a year has passed since then, 
 
 But still I see before me 
 The vision of that Highland glen, 
 
 And memories crowd o'er me. 
 
Memories. 43 
 
 I see again those startled eyes, 
 And cheeks as brown as berries, 
 
 Lips parted in a shy surprise, 
 And red as ripened cherries, 
 
 And fancy breathes, in fresh delight, 
 The scent of purple heather. 
 
 And sees the harebell, blue and white, 
 And wild rose tied together. 
 
44 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 TO THE LINNET. 
 
 MERRY, cheerful, thoughtless linnet, 
 Heaven bless thy trilling song ! 
 Heartfelt, thankful joy is in it, 
 Dropping music all day long. 
 
 Light as thistledown or feather, 
 Borne aloft on summer breeze. 
 
 Caring not for wind or weather, 
 Dweller in the woodland trees ! 
 
 Bird, thou dost possess a treasure 
 (Little guessing of its worth), 
 
 In thy true and healthy pleasure, 
 In thine all unclouded mirth. 
 
 Knowing nought of care and sorrow. 
 Flying free o'er heather braes. 
 
 Trusting to a tranquil morrow. 
 Thus to spend thy golden days ! 
 
To a Harebell 45 
 
 TO A HAREBELL. 
 
 A LITTLE breath of azure life that swings 
 Upon an airy filament of green, 
 To which, all tremulous, it partly clings ; 
 
 Like to a pair of folded fairy wings 
 Drooped on the dancing shoulder of their queen. 
 
 Methinks the fresh and merry breeze might rend 
 Thee from thy stem, and carry thee away. 
 
 But, no ! I see thy graceful blossoms bend. 
 As if to list the whisper of a friend. 
 
 And bow thyself, assenting, to his sway. 
 
 Oh, if mine ears were not so dull and poor, 
 I might thy silvery chimes at night discern. 
 
 And see across the moonlit stretch of moor, — 
 If but mine ears were wide awake and pure, — 
 
 The elfin circles traced among the fern ! 
 
 Enough, I am but mortal and must bear 
 My mortal weakness without complaint ; 
 
 Take thou my love, oh, harebell ! flowret fair, — 
 Immortal in immunity from care, 
 
 A child of earth, without an earthly taint ! 
 
46 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems, 
 
 SUMMER-LAND. 
 
 ROUND the house the rude winds blow, 
 Hooting, hurling sleet and snow ; 
 Through the gray gloom of the sky. 
 Clouds, like storm-birds, hurry by ; 
 But my thoughts are out of hand, 
 Wandering in summer-land. 
 
 There forever sapphire seas 
 Flash through gracious groves of trees ; 
 Baby-waves, with laughter sweet. 
 Play and prattle at their feet, 
 Lapping, lapping on the strand. 
 White and warm, of summer-land. 
 
 Rose and pink and mignonette, 
 Honeysuckle, violet, 
 New-mown hay, and balsam pine 
 Blended in one essence fine, — 
 Perfume of no mortal brand, — 
 Makes the breath of summer-land. 
 
Summer-Land. 47 
 
 Now, I seem to lie and float, 
 Cradled in a little boat, 
 Reedy river-reaches through. 
 Under skies of smiling blue, — 
 Float, nor need to stir a hand. 
 Drifting down thro' summer-land. 
 
 Cat-tails guard the gliding bank ; 
 Golden buttercup grows rank ; 
 Silver circlets splash and spread, 
 Where a shy fish lifts his head ; 
 Blue and yellow iris stand. 
 Ankle-deep, in summer-land. 
 
 Far away the wood-thrush sings ; 
 Everywhere 's a whirr of wings. 
 Bees o'er purple clover croon 
 Endless slumber songs of June ; 
 Jewelled flies dance saraband 
 To the pipes of summer-land. 
 
 Faint and fainter on my ear 
 
 Comes the thrush-note sweet and clear ; 
 
 In an opal-tinted haze 
 
 Swims the vision as I gaze. 
 
 Sleep has bound me, foot and hand. 
 
 Prisoner in summer-land. 
 
48 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems, 
 
 Soft and softer — slower — so, 
 Let the drowsy voyager go ; 
 Heavy-lidded, lulled from pain, 
 Soon enough to wake again. 
 Rouse not yet with rough command 
 From the dream of summer-land. 
 
In Autumn. 49 
 
 IN AUTUMK 
 
 THE smokeless chimneys, void and cold, 
 Stand sentry on the silent roof. 
 Where nesting sparrows, blithe and bold, 
 Have summered safe, without reproof. 
 
 The white hydrangea wastes its mass 
 Of ivory blossom, flushed like morn, 
 
 Above the riot of the grass, 
 
 The tangle of wild weeds, unshorn. 
 
 A few dry leaves drift through the porch, — 
 The first to fade, the first to fall ; 
 
 The ivy fires its carmine torch. 
 
 And flames against the western wall. 
 
 Soon shall the empty dwelling stir. 
 Thrill with the throbbing life it lost, 
 
 Break open like a chestnut-burr. 
 At the first coming of the frost ! 
 
50 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 A FAREWELL TO MY COUNTRY-HOUSE. 
 
 FAREWELL, ray Country-House ! The days 
 Of golden lights and flashing seas, 
 And fanning flicker of the trees, 
 Are lost in autumn's misty haze. 
 
 Across the white porch-pillars glow 
 The dying creeper's crimson leaves ; 
 
 With the last harvest-home of sheaves 
 The heavy- wheeled farm-wagons go. 
 
 My little room seems lone and bare, 
 Tlie books and trinkets packed away ; 
 
 The screens of peacocks' feathers gay 
 No longer light the fragrant air. 
 
 Hampers and trunks stand packed for town, 
 And summer things put out of sight. 
 
 The gleeful children, all delight. 
 
 With burdened arms, run up and down. 
 
 And still the monthly roses kiss 
 
 The window-panes, as sweet and fair 
 
 As when the summer's beauties were. 
 It seemed — so far away from this ! 
 
A Farewell to my Country-House. 51 
 
 I shed some secret tears, apart ; 
 
 All changes seem as things to fear ; 
 And our delightful summer here 
 
 Is warm against my clinging heart. 
 
 But, my foolish soul, be strong ! 
 
 Life has no room for idle hands ; 
 And I must follow His commands 
 
 Who daily leads my feet along. 
 
 Another spring is on its way, 
 
 Weaving, thro' all the snow and cold 
 
 Of winter months, the blue and gold 
 And glory of another May. 
 
 There is no winter for the soul 
 
 That walks before its God in light ; 
 
 There is a day without a night. 
 Set in the summer of the goal ! 
 
52 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 SNOW. 
 
 A COMING darkness in the western sky, 
 A fringed tattered banner folds unfurled, 
 And white-shod couriers falling as they fly. 
 Upon the dusky bosom of the world. 
 
 They issue, frail as infant souls untried, 
 
 Swift speeding to the unknown plains below, 
 
 Unconscious of the dangers that betide, — 
 
 The greedy mire and cart-wheels grinding slow. 
 
 Now with the rush of mounted legions fleet, 
 The dazzling atoms charge in mimic fray, 
 
 Cooling the lurid air with frozen feet, 
 
 And flinging wide their glancing spires of spray. 
 
 Now in a calm and languid eddy sweep, 
 
 Slow circling in a whirlpool round and round, 
 
 Till, wearied by their flight, they sink to sleep, 
 Upon the silent carpet of the ground. 
 
 They drop more slowly now, the feathered flakes. 
 By twos and threes, and through a misty rift 
 
 In yon gray cloud a sudden sunbeam breads 
 And gilds the fairy feathers as they drift. 
 
Snoiv. 53 
 
 'T is gone ! The sunlight glitters bright and warm 
 Upon a thawing landscape from a sky 
 
 Blue with the after freshness of a storm, 
 And cloudless as a morning in July. 
 
 And nought is left of that great host of snow, 
 But melting heaps, and watery paths and pools. 
 
 Which footsteps fast, and cart-wheels grinding 
 slow, 
 Reduce within the common roadway's rules. 
 
 So melt our dreams in youth, as pure and bright. 
 
 Enough, if we may water with our tears 
 Some plant which, rescued thus from dust or blight. 
 
 May give us fragrance in our after years. 
 
54 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 THE NEST. 
 
 IT sways against the shining sky, 
 Tossed by the romping breeze. 
 The yellow swirl of leaves sweeps by, 
 
 Torn from the bending trees. 
 Ah, warm love-life of last July ! 
 Ah, passion of " mad minstrelsy I " 
 
 Nay, but the budding wings that grew 
 
 Strong for their splendid flight, 
 Straight-stretched across long leagues of blue, 
 
 For realms of far delight. 
 The nest grows old in frost and dew. 
 But Love and Life are always new. 
 
Looking Bach, 55 
 
 LOOKING BACK. 
 
 I KNEW him once whom they call Love. He 
 came 
 Not when spring's daisies decked the open lea, 
 Nor when the summer's tropic heats, aflame, 
 Drew on in glorious glow, Love came to me. 
 
 He came in laughing guise when scarlet leaves 
 Made carpet rich for our unheeding feet ; 
 
 He throned us on the gold of gathered sheaves, 
 And crowned us with grape-tendrils, fair and 
 sweet. 
 
 He pelted us with beech-nuts ripened brown ; 
 
 He lost us in the brambles' witching maze, 
 And shook the red and russet apples down 
 
 Upon us in those splendid autumn days. 
 
 II. 
 
 I cannot tell the time they ceased to be, 
 
 Nor when the frosts first nipped their guileless 
 
 joy; 
 
 I woke from drifting on an opal sea, 
 To find a wintry world, and I — a boy ! 
 
 LofC. 
 
56 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 I only know that they are far away, 
 
 Not lost — God never gives His gifts in vain, 
 
 But stores them for us, where, some future day, 
 We may enjoy them without fear of pain, 
 
 Where, in the endless season of His love, 
 All things are perfect, and without a flaw ; 
 
 And in the glory of that life above. 
 
 Perchance my autumn days will live once more ! 
 
''Work for the blaster:' 57 
 
 ^^WORK FOR THE MASTER." 
 
 THE Master calls ; while yet the early dawn 
 Hangs on the eyelids of the golden day. 
 Bright dewdrops gem the ripened ears of corn ; 
 
 Cool breezes all the vines' sweet tendrils sway ; 
 Soft radiance silvers over land and sea : 
 " Why stand ye idle ? " " Come and work for me." 
 
 The Master calls ; and now the sultry noon 
 Burns in the cloudless azure of the sky. 
 
 In the dim distance whirls the wild simoon, 
 And heat doth reign in sullen sovereignty. 
 
 Through the still air comes the commanding plea : 
 
 " Why stand ye idle ? " " Come and work for me." 
 
 The Master calls ; and now the languid sun 
 
 Sinks slowly o'er the parched earth's sandy rim ; 
 
 The toil, the pleasure of the day is done ; 
 The cedar casts its spiry shadow slim ; 
 
 Th' eleventh hour is come. Once more to thee, 
 
 The Master calleth : " Come and work for me." 
 
58 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 HE WILL NOT BE EXTREME TO MARK. 
 
 "If Thou . . . shouldst be extreme to mark iniquities, 
 Lord, who shall stand ? " 
 
 '' TF HE should be extreme to mark — " 
 ^ greatest, teiiderest heart of all ! 
 Immortal eyes that pierce the dark, 
 
 Nor miss a single sparrow's fall, — 
 He will not be extreme to mark ! 
 
 So take I comfort to my soul ; 
 
 My sorry soul that errs and slips, 
 A thousand times turned from its goal ; 
 
 Sinning with heart and hands and lips, — 
 My weak, unstable, faithless soul ! 
 
 He will not be extreme to mark 
 The barren years, the blighted crop, 
 
 The sterile vineyard, dry and stark, 
 
 Though the sun shines, the soft rains drop. 
 
 He will not be extreme to mark. 
 
 Bright shines my hope against the dark ; 
 
 He doth not judge as Man, nor quench 
 The smoking flax' half-smothered spark. 
 
 So, when He calls, I need not blench. 
 He will not be extreme to mark. 
 
Keep Thou my Hand." 59 
 
 "KEEP THOU MY HAND." 
 
 KEEP Thou my hand : I gave it Thee 
 When first the dews of earthy years 
 Begemmed my fancy's pastures free, 
 
 And when mine eyes, undimraed by tears, 
 Gazed fearless on those hills of time 
 Which glowed so bright at morning prime. 
 
 And when I found that I must drop, 
 As faded buds that could not blow, 
 
 Some of those hopes, I might not stop 
 To grieve o'er shattered joys below, 
 
 Then Thine the hand whose friendly grasp 
 
 Returned my weak and nervous clasp. 
 
 Keep Thou my hand when life's long day 
 Draws to the sunset of its close, 
 
 And lengthened shadows span the way 
 Which leads me to my calm repose, — 
 
 Keep Thou my hand, nor leave my side 
 
 When crossing Jordan's solemn tide. 
 
60 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems. 
 
 Then, when I rise to droop no more, 
 Young with an everlasting youth, 
 
 And find the misty dreams of yore 
 A living glory and a truth, — 
 
 Keep Thou my hand and lead me still, 
 
 When perfect in Thy perfect will. 
 
''In There." 61 
 
 "IN THERE." 
 
 I CALLED my two years' baby girl 
 From all-absorbing play, 
 To ask her of the whereabouts 
 Of one long leagues away, — 
 In idle curiosity 
 
 To know what she would say. 
 
 She pushed aside the tumbled curls 
 
 From off her forehead fair, 
 Looked smiling up into my face, 
 
 With bright, confiding air. 
 And pointing to a half-closed door. 
 
 Said happily : " In dere I " 
 
 Ah ! child, I thought, my eyes grown wet. 
 
 If always I might be 
 As sure about the ones who sailed 
 
 Out on the unknown sea, 
 As sure about the further side 
 
 Of Death's great mystery ! 
 
62 The Christmas Baby and Other Poems, 
 
 No need to measure time or space, 
 To speak of " here " and " there " ; 
 
 The Father's arms, the Father's love 
 Make Heaven everywhere, — 
 
 And while our dear dead seem so far. 
 Perhaps they 're just " in there ! " 
 
SEP 'u. i^.,,, 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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