The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith :: :: University of Virginia Library

O sweet and pure and tender heart,
With the child's gift to pray and play,
Thou, artless in thy perfect art,
Could'st blissful tears to us impart,
And smile the blissful tears away.

Most human thou of humankind,
What wealth of love accrued to thee!
To thee dumb creatures looked to find
The meanings which their wistful mind
Was groping for, and could not see.

We were the better for the mirth,
We were the better for the tears,
We were the better seeing worth,
In the dumb creatures of the earth,
Their loves, their efforts, and their fears.

Not all could comprehend thy mirth,
Thy dainty humour playing round
All things that be; yet heaven and earth
Thine awe and wonder still called forth,
For all to thee was holy ground.

We are so little; God requires,
The greatness of His thoughts to prove,
Some altars burning with strange fires,
Some songs not meant for sacred choirs,
Some souls that shun the common groove.

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And thou—thy smile was like a prayer,
Thy humour like a psalm of praise;
They mingled with the holiest there
Where hearts breathe out their grief and care
To Him that Ancient is of Days.

Yet oftentimes that smile was seen
Kindling the near edge of a cloud
That gathered o'er thy soul serene,
And haunted thee with anguish keen,
And bitter wailing low or loud.

That cloud is past of fear and doubt;
But ah! this other cloud that lies
With hush of silence all about,
And opens to let no man out,
And hides thee from our wistful eyes!

We gaze at it with brimming tears;
Vain all our yearning looks and fond;
No smile upon its edge appears;
And yet the faith is wise that hears
A voice say, All is light beyond.