 | The white dove, and Other Poems for Children |  |
102
The Walk.
The Lady in her chamber,
Sat with a drooping head;
Her dreamy eyes were resting
Upon the book she read.
Sat with a drooping head;
Her dreamy eyes were resting
Upon the book she read.
It was a fine old story,
Yet her pulses slowly beat,
She could not see its beauty
Nor feel its music sweet.
Yet her pulses slowly beat,
She could not see its beauty
Nor feel its music sweet.
Then came a sound soft falling—
Which she rather felt than heard;
It was mother nature calling,
And she spoke thus word for word:
Which she rather felt than heard;
It was mother nature calling,
And she spoke thus word for word:
103
“There is sunshine in the meadow—
There is shade beneath the tree—
There is music in the thicket—
There are waters leaping free!
There is shade beneath the tree—
There is music in the thicket—
There are waters leaping free!
“There are mosses in the hollows—
In the forest waving ferns;
All pleasant lessons teaching,
And wise is he who learns.
In the forest waving ferns;
All pleasant lessons teaching,
And wise is he who learns.
“Come forth—the birds are singing,
Insects are sporting free;
The first wild flowers are springing,
Come, pass an hour with me.”
Insects are sporting free;
The first wild flowers are springing,
Come, pass an hour with me.”
And the lady rose up slowly,
And with gentle gliding feet,
She sought the open hill-side,
Where the air was fresh and sweet.
And with gentle gliding feet,
She sought the open hill-side,
Where the air was fresh and sweet.
And she heard the south wind linger
In the tall and slender pines,
With its unseen finger lifting
The graceful climbing vines.
In the tall and slender pines,
With its unseen finger lifting
The graceful climbing vines.
104
Then she reached the upland level,
And saw beneath her lie
The broad green fertile valley,
And above, the smiling sky.
And saw beneath her lie
The broad green fertile valley,
And above, the smiling sky.
Heard sounds of village labor
With a softened murmur come,
To mingle with the sylvan song
Of insects' ceaseless hum.
With a softened murmur come,
To mingle with the sylvan song
Of insects' ceaseless hum.
Felt the sweet sunshine, like a hand
Of kindness warm and soft,
Saw the bright oriole leave his nest
And carol up aloft.
Of kindness warm and soft,
Saw the bright oriole leave his nest
And carol up aloft.
She spoke not, but her very soul
Uttered a hymn of praise;
And that sweet hour she treasures yet
Against all wintry days.
Uttered a hymn of praise;
And that sweet hour she treasures yet
Against all wintry days.
Oh gracious mother nature!
Were but thy children wise;
Did they but heed thy teaching,
With open hearts and eyes,
Were but thy children wise;
Did they but heed thy teaching,
With open hearts and eyes,
105
The smallest flower that opens
In the wilderness waste place,
Would have its balm for healing,
Would be an “herb of grace.”
In the wilderness waste place,
Would have its balm for healing,
Would be an “herb of grace.”
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