Alas! how sadly do our lives
Change as we onward roam !
For now no birdie voice calls out
To bid me welcome home.
No little hands stretched out for me,
No blue eyes dancing bright,
No baby face peeps from the door
When I come home at night.
And yet there's comfort in the thought
That when life's toil is o'er,
And passing through the sable flood
I gain the brighter shore,
My little angel at the gate,
With eyes divinely blue,
Will call with birdie voice, " Papa,
I's looten out for oo!”
MATTIE'S WANTS AND WISHES.
I WANTS a piece of talito
To make my doll a dress;
I does n't want a big piece
A yard 'll do, I guess.
I wish you'd fred my needle,
And find my fimble, too
I has such heaps o' sowin',
I don't know what to do.
My Hepsy tored her apron
A tum❜lin' down the stair;
And Cæsar 's lost his pantaloons,
And needs anozzer pair.
I wants my Maud a bonnet,
She has n't none at all;
And Fred must have a jacket,
His uzzer one 's too small.
I wants to go to grandma's,
You promised me I might;
I know she 'll like to see me
I wants to go to-night.
She lets me wash the dishes,
And see in grandpa's watch-
Wish I'd free, four pennies,
To buy some butter-scotch.
I wants some newer mittens,
I wish you'd knit me some,
'Cause 'most my fingers freezes,
They leak so in the fum.
I wored it out last summer
A-pullin' George's sled;
I wish you wouldn't laugh so
It hurts me in my head.
I wish I had a cooky-
I'm hungry's I can be;
If you has n't pretty large ones,
You'd better bring me free.
GRAN'MA AL'US DOES.
I WANTS to mend my wagon,
And has to have some nails;
Just two, free will be plenty;
We're goin' to haul our rails.
The splendidest cob fences
We're makin' ever was !
I wis' you'd help us find 'em
Gran'ma al'us does.
My horse's name is “Betsey;
She jumped and broke her head,
I put her in the stable
And fed her milk and bread; The stable 's in the parlor,
We didn't make no muss;
I wis' you'd let it stay there
Gran'ma al'us does.
I's goin' to the cornfield
To ride on Charlie's plough, I spect he 'd like to have me— I wants to go right now.
Oh, won't I " gee-up" awful,
And "whoa" like Charlie whoas!
I wis' you would n't bozzer
Gran'ma never does.
I wants some bread and butter,
I's hungry worstest kind;
But Freddy must n't have none —
'Cause he would n't mind.
Put plenty of sugar on it;
I'll tell you what I knows:
It's right to put on sugar —
Gran'ma al'us does.
"Now I lay," repeat it, darling.
Lay me," lisped the tiny lips
Of my daughter, kneeling, bending
O'er her folded finger-tips.
"Down to sleep "To sleep," she murmured,
And the curly head bent low;
"I pray the Lord," I gently added;
You can say it all, I know.
Fainter still-"My soul to keep;
Then the tired head fairly nodded,
And the child was fast asleep.
But the dewy eyes half opened
When I clasped her to my breast, And the dear voice softly whispered, "Mamma, God knows all the rest.
Oh, the trusting, sweet confiding
Of the child heart! Would that I
Thus might trust my Heavenly Father,
He who hears my feeblest cry.
"NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP."
GOLDEN head so lowly bending,
Little feet so white and bare,
Dewy eyes, half shut, half opened,
Lisping out her evening prayer.
Well she knows when she is saying,
"Now I lay me down to sleep,"
'Tis to God that she is praying,
Praying him her soul to keep.
Half asleep, and murmuring faintly,
"If I should die before I wake,"
Tiny fingers clasped so saintly, -
"I
pray the Lord my soul to take."
Oh the rapture, sweet, unbroken,
Of the soul who wrote that prayer !
Children's myriad voices floating
Up to heaven record it there.
If, of all that has been written,
I could choose what might be mine,
It should be that child's petition,
Rising to the throne divine.
THE fire upon the hearth is low,
And there is stillness everywhere;
Like troubled spirits, here and there
The firelight shadows fluttering go.
And as the shadows round me creep,
A childish treble breaks the gloom,
And softly from a further room
Comes: "Now I lay me down to sleep."
And, somehow, with that little prayer
And that sweet treble in my ears,
My thought goes back to distant years,
And lingers with a dear one there;
And as I hear the child's amen,
My mother's faith comes back to me,
Crouched at her side I seem to be,
And mother holds my hands again.
Oh for an hour in that dear place!
Oh for the peace of that dear time!
Oh for that childish trust sublime!
Oh, for a glimpse of mother's face!
Yet, as the shadows round me creep,
I do not seem to be alone,
Sweet magic of that treble tone
And "Now I lay me down to sleep!"
Is the house turned topsy-turvy?
Does it ring from street to roof?
Will the racket still continue,
Spite of all your mild reproof?
Are you often in a flutter?
Are you sometimes thrilled with joy?
Then I have my grave suspicions
That you have at home
Are your walls and tables hammered?
Are your nerves and ink upset?
Have two eyes, so bright and roguish,
Made you every care forget?
Have your garden beds a prowler
Who delights but to destroy?
These are well-known indications
That you have at home that Boy.
Have you seen him playing circus
With his head upon the mat,
And his heels in mid-air twinkling —
For his audience, the cat?
Do you ever stop to listen,
When his merry pranks annoy,
Listen to a voice that whispers,
You were once just like
Have you heard of broken windows,
And with nobody to blame?
Have you seen a trousered urchin
Quite unconscious of the same?
Do you love a teasing mixture
Of perplexity and joy?
You may have a dozen daughters,
But I know you've got
THE clock strikes seven in the hall,
The curfew of the children's day,
That calls each little pattering foot
From dance and song and livelong play;
Their day, that in our wider light
Floats like a silver day-moon white,
Nor in our darkness sinks to rest,
But sinks within a golden west.
Ah, tender hour that sends a drift
Of children's kisses through the house, And cuckoo-notes of sweet "Good-night,"
And thoughts of home and heaven arouse ; And a soft stir of sense and heart, As when the bee and blossom part; And little feet that patter slower, Like the last droppings of the shower.
|