Home Poems
полная версия
Аннотация
Читать онлайн
- -
- 100%
- +
THE BABY
Within his little crib the baby lies;And ’neath the lashes of his closing eyesI catch a glimpse of summer’s bluest skies.His tiny head, upon its pillow white,Is crowned with curls, like sunshine fair and bright,Half hidden now from his admirer’s sight.His cheek, soon flushed in a refreshing sleep,Is like the petal of a wild-rose deep,While in and out the pretty dimples peep.His rose-bud mouth, in such an hour as this,Invites the pleasure of a loving kiss,Which even strangers could not take amiss.His tiny teeth are like the precious pearlsAnd, when his lip in childish laughter curls,They shine, as perfect as a baby girl’s.His shapely ears, like sea-shells pink and small,Which soon discern the mother song and call,Can quickly hear the slightest sound of all.His little nose, not yet in proper style,Which mother models every little while,Is quite enough to make a critic smile.His dimpled hands, unlike the restless feetSecurely pinned within his blanket neat,Oft find a place outside the snowy sheet.When baby sleeps the house is hushed and lone;His rubber playthings to the floor are thrown,While patient pussy seeks her peace unknown.When baby wakes the house is filled with joy;His lusty cries no loving heart annoy,While mother runs to take her darling boy.GOD’S LOVE
Like a star, whose beams are brighterWhen skies are dark above,So shines, in night of sorrow,The light of God’s great love.We may not see its lustre,While heads are bowed in prayer,But looking just above usWe find its glories there.Our tears may dim the visionAnd we may question why;But some day He will answerWhere souls shall never die.Above the gathering shadows,Beyond the gloom of years,God’s star will shine forever,Undimmed by Sorrow’s tears.Some day, when He shall lead usTo our eternal rest,We’ll know life’s hidden meaningAnd we shall say: “’Twas best.”RELEASE
Fear not to die, but rather fear to live,For death is not so grave a thing as life;The soul that God to mortal man did giveShall some day be exempt from earthly strife,And from its narrow prison cell at lastIt shall go forth the glorious light to see,When chains are loosened, which now hold it fast,By Death, the warden, who shall set it free;And it shall live thro’ all the days and yearsTo know the peace of sunny Paradise,No more to be the slave of doubts and fears,Nor suffer failure when escape it tries.Earth’s blossoms die, but from the falling seedsShall live again the pure and treasured flowers;And thus we die, but loving words and deedsShall be immortal like this soul of ours.EASTER
[To M. M. M.]’Twas Easter evening and the churchWas filled with a waiting throng,To listen to Easter ServiceWith its flowers, its light and song.The organist, by the altar,Touched the pretty ivory keysAnd sent, thro’ the house of worshipThe sweetest of melodies.Just as the notes were ceasing,And the people arose for prayer,A little maid came softly inAnd seated herself by the stair.The service was just beginning,She had never entered before;But while passing had heard the musicAnd seen bright lights from the door;—So she thought: “I’ll look in a moment,To see what it all is about,—And perhaps—if I steal in softlyThat no one will find it out.”She saw all the people standingWith heads bowed down in the light,And she heard the words: “Our Father,Bless this service here to-night.”When the good man ceased his speakingAnd each one had taken seat,Again the notes from the organThro’ the stillness sounded sweet.A little girl came to the altar,—“No older than I am”—she thought;She was dressed in snowy whiteness,In her hands sweet flowers she brought.She spoke of the Christ—our Saviour,In her pretty childish way;She said: “The Lord is risenAnd he walks with men to-day.”“He loves us—He died to save us,”Said the little maid in white—“He went to the Home above us,To Heaven where there is no night.”And the little girl by the stair-wayIn her tattered gown of red,Listening, heard the story sweetAnd treasured the words she said;And she wondered, as she listened,If the Saviour did truly careFor one so small and neglectedAs she, sitting down by the stair.And while she looked at the flowersAnd heard the grand organ play,And sweet voices of the childrenNow telling of Easter day;Her little heart grew lighter,She said: “I’m alone no moreFor Christ, who loves the children,Is my Father now gone before.”When the Easter Service was endedShe wended her way aloneThro’ the streets of the great cityTo the garret, her only home.As she climbed the narrow stair-way,Unlighted by cheering ray,Her little heart kept singingThe songs of glad Easter day;And the woman, who kept the lodging,Heard the little maiden comeAnd asked, in her gruffest manner,What kept her so long from home.“’Twas the Easter Service, madam,And the words”—she made reply;“I’m not an orphan any moreFor my Father dwells on high.”“See! I’ve brought you an Easter lilyAll snowy, and pure, and white,Which a lady dropped in passingEre her coach wheeled out of sight.”“I almost know you’ll like itFor ’tis part of the Easter day,And the children spoke of the liliesIn the verses they had to say.”When all was still in the lodgingAnd the rest were sleeping below,Unmindful of Christ, the Saviour,Who died for them long ago;Then this loving little maiden,Away from all human sight,Knelt down, in the dingy garret,To thank God for Easter night.EMINENCE
Side by side the mountains riseToward the blue of distant skies;But tho’ roots may interlaceAnd each base is joined to base,Till the friendly trees inclineAnd their branches touch and twine,Yet, while aging day by day,They part union on their wayTill the welcome sunlight seeksTo crown insulated peaks.Side by side the great men riseTowards the heights of brighter skies;But tho’ minds together blendAnd each friend is joined to friend,Till their spirits interchangeAnd their thoughts have fullest range,Yet while aging day by day,They diverge upon life’s wayTill Young Genius claims his ownAnd they choose to soar alone.THE HERE AND THERE
By courtesy of Ladies’ World, New York CityThe Here and There are not so far apart,As oft’ they seem to Sorrow’s waiting heart;The waking love that Here no more shall sleepWill There the souls in perfect union keep.God does not mean, tho’ Heaven be bright and fair,To break the strands between the Here and There.The heart that loves shall love beyond the skies;The soul that lives shall live in Paradise.We know that He in joy and peace will keepOur own and His until we fall asleep.The same sweet smile, the loving face so fair,But glorified, awaits our coming There.To those who trust and patiently endure,He gives them back, bright, beautiful and pure.They are not lost to such as you and meBut still shall love us thro’ Eternity;—And from temptation and from earthly careShall lead us upward to the Heavenly There.AIR CASTLES
Sometimes I dwell not here—But far away,Where not a breath disturbsMy fondest dream;Where, loitering at ease,Myself alone I pleaseAnd sing my soul good cheerWithin my castles fair,That I have built in air,Above Time’s stream.Outside, like haunting ghosts,The clouds appear,But noiselessly pass byEach bolted gate;Around my castle walls,The hush of moon-light falls,While, like the armied hosts,With torches flashing bright,The stars come out at nightTo celebrate.’Tis bliss to dwell like this,In airy heights,Above the common crowdAnd earthly din;Where all the livelong day,With my best self I stayAnd naught of glory miss;Where neither friend nor foe,To pity or bring woe,Can enter in.Who dares uplift a latch,Like thief at night,To scatter treasured hopesAnd steal my store?Who darkens my domainWhere I, an empress, reign,While subjects wait dispatch?Away, ye dread Despair!To castles in the airStill let me soar.LITTLE JOE
He stands in crowded city street,Poor, tired, little Joe,And sees the people pass and meetWhile moments come and go.He holds sweet flowers in his hand,Poor, patient, little Joe,And wonders who can understandHis poverty and woe.“Please won’t you buy my blossoms bright?”Cries hopeful, little Joe,While daylight fades and sunset lightFloods stirring streets below.But no one lingers, no one caresFor homeless, little Joe;When mother breathed his name in prayersHe was too small to know.When father took him on his knee,Dear, little baby Joe,He used to crow in childish gleeBut that was long ago.The night grows dark, and no one hearsPoor, heartsick, little Joe;He puts his flowers away with tearsAnd turns his foot-steps slow.He passes mansions grand and tall,Poor, homesick, little Joe,And hopes that men within the hallWill gifts of love bestow.Sometimes he stops to watch the lights,Poor, lonely, little Joe,And sees some whirling, dazzling sightsWhile dancers come and go.In homes he hears the child-like noise,Poor, orphaned, little Joe,And wonders if their little boysTo great, good men will grow.He seeks, at last, a sheltering shed,Poor, hungry, little Joe,And makes, of tattered coat, a bed,While tear-drops freely flow.And: “Now I lay me down to sleep,”Says drowsy, little Joe,“And pray the Lord my soul to keep,”He whispers, soft and low.“If I should die before I wake,”Breathes tired, little Joe,“I pray the Lord my soul to take,”And it was even so.