 | [Poems by Higginson in] Such as they are |  |
12
JOY COMETH WITH THE MORNING.
Out of the dreams and the dust of ages,
Hindu reverie, Hebrew boy,
Deeds of heroes and lore of sages,
Comes the hope that turns earth to joy.
Hindu reverie, Hebrew boy,
Deeds of heroes and lore of sages,
Comes the hope that turns earth to joy.
But the rosy light of the morning teaches
A blither knowledge than books can tell,
And the song that rings through the orchard preaches
The ceaseless message that all is well.
A blither knowledge than books can tell,
And the song that rings through the orchard preaches
The ceaseless message that all is well.
Hark to the lesson that Nature meaneth!
List to the breeze on the pine-clad hill!
See, the sun-rays stream to the zenith!
Thrice the oriole whistles shrill.
List to the breeze on the pine-clad hill!
See, the sun-rays stream to the zenith!
Thrice the oriole whistles shrill.
Myriad odors are faint and tender,
Sweet notes come from the woodlands far.
Draw fresh life from the day's new splendor,
Pluck thy hope from the morning star!
Sweet notes come from the woodlands far.
Draw fresh life from the day's new splendor,
Pluck thy hope from the morning star!
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ALBUM VERSES FOR CHILDREN.
I. (M. W. H.)
In days of old, the minstrel far did roam,Singing his lay, “Si douce est Marguerite;”
But now the minstrel only stays at home,
Yet still he sings, “My Margaret is sweet.”
II. (E. B.)
In old books, the reader readethOf three Saxon queens named Edith:
One was brave, and one was bonny,
And the third had heaps of money.
Happier may this Edith be
Than the happiest of the three.
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III. (A. B.)
What shall I give to thee, Annie darling,
Playmate of mine by the ocean sands?
Gems for the ears I have splashed with sea-foam,
Or rings of pearl for the brown, brown hands?
Playmate of mine by the ocean sands?
Gems for the ears I have splashed with sea-foam,
Or rings of pearl for the brown, brown hands?
Well that I am not a fairy, Annie!
I might bring many a treasure-trove
To win thy heart from its simple pleasures,
And spoil the grave sweet smile I love.
I might bring many a treasure-trove
To win thy heart from its simple pleasures,
And spoil the grave sweet smile I love.
I will kiss thee on thy forehead, Annie,
And say, Be forever as thou art,—
Woman's thoughts 'neath the brow of childhood,
And childhood's dew on the woman's heart!
And say, Be forever as thou art,—
Woman's thoughts 'neath the brow of childhood,
And childhood's dew on the woman's heart!
| [Poems by Higginson in] Such as they are | |