Hannah Baily - By the Sea, and Other Verses

Comes a cunning little urchin
With defiant eye,
"Making music" with his marbles
As he passes by.
But, alas! the pretty toys are
Taken from him soon,
And the music-loving Willie
Strikes another tune!

Comes a lisping little beauty,
Scarce five summers old;
Baby voice and blue eyes pleading,
"Please, misth, I'm stho cold!"
Little one, the world is chilly,
All too cold for thee;
From its storms "Our Father" shield thee,
And thy refuge be.

While I turn to caution Johnny
Not to make such noise;
Mary parses: "Earth's an adverb,
In the passive voice."
Well, indeed, it must be passive,
Else it is not clear
How such open language-murder,
Goes unpunished here.

"Second Reader Class" reciting —
"Lesson verse or prose?"
None in all the class is certain;
Each one thinks he knows.
"Well," is queried then, "the difference
Who can now define?"
Answers Rob: "In verse they never
Finish out the line!"

Boy, thy thought doth strangely thrill me,
And as hours roll on,
Hears my heart a solemn query:
Is my day's work done?
Do I make of this my life-task
Prose or idle rhyme?
Do I in the sight of Heaven
Finish out the line?

Oh, it is "too fine a knowledge"
For our mortal sight,
All these restless little creatures
How to lead aright.
He who prayeth while he worketh,
Taking lessons still
Of the Friend of little children,
Learning all His will;

He alone can walk before them
Worthily and well;
He alone of life's strange language
Can the meaning tell.
May I then with heart as tender
As a little child
Lead my flock; and Father, keep them
Pure and undefiled.

O blessed peace, that floweth like a river,
Unstayed, unwearied, ever on and on;
That hath its fount and spring in Christ the giver,
And finds its ocean round the great white Throne.

O peace of God, that passeth understanding,
Thou art the answer to my soul's long quest;
Doubts, fears and sins, their serried hosts disbanding,
I leave, launch on thy wave, and anchored, rest.

We were "seven in all," as the dear rustic maid
To the poet so sweetly protested;
And together we rambled and studied and played,
Each imbibing a share of the sunshine and shade
Wherewith our young life was invested.

And black eyes and blue eyes and brown eyes and gray
Looked up to the face of our mother,
As she led us in study in labor or play,
Or told of "Our Father," and taught us to pray,
And to cherish and love one another.

O, the rapture of being when life is a-tune
With the song-life and beauty of morning;
When the roseate dawn brightens into the noon,
And the year hastens on to the splendor of June,
In her fragrance and matchless adorning.

So our years flitted by and the youngest of all —
Our dark-eyed and fun-loving brother —
Was grown to be manly and lithesome and tall,
And to couteous titles we answered the call,
But were still "boys" and "girls" to each other.

O, the joy of endeavor, endurance and toil
On thro' summer-time vigor and sweetness,
Of triumph o'er that which would hinder or foil,
Of the patience of hope after tears and turmoil,
In the glory of autumn's completeness.

And the toil and the turmoil and tears have been ours —
From our ranks we have missed a loved brother
We've encountered the thorns, but we've cherished the flowers;
We've passed under the clouds on to sunnier hours,
And we're still "boys" and "girls" to each other.

The gliding of a fairy form
And rosy lips that knew no guile,
With wonder parted, came to ask,
"Papa, what is a smile?"

A smile, whate'er it is, then stole
That gentle parent's features o'er;
For ne'er to him had been proposed
Query so strange before.

But while he pondered in his heart
How he should to his child reply,
A new, triumphant joy lit up
Her loving, lustrous eye; —

And with this gladsome, new-found thought,
She answered in her own behalf:
"Oh, now, I know; a smile must be
The whisper to a laugh! "

Sing, little sparrow, sing thy song.
No peril neareth thee;
Tho night be dark or day be long,
Or clouds hang low, sing on, sing on,
The dear God heareth thee.

Sing, little bird, whate'er befall —
Trill out thine utmost need;
Thou canst not soar, thou canst not fall
But He will note who knoweth all,
And He thy plaint will heed.

O little sparrow, far and high
Thy soft notes God-ward go,
And I with thee send up my cry,
And both shall somewhere find reply,
God careth for us so.

O mother, from thy home beyond the stars
Hast thou not known the yearning of thy child
For thy sweet love? Hast thou not heard her wild
And piteous moaning for thy soft caress?
Felt her heart's aching for the tenderness
And the low patience of thy loving voice?
Hast thou not seen her 'mid life's toils and jars,
Pant as a bird behind its prison bars,