University of Virginia Library



I.



THE CHILDREN OUT-OF-DOORS


11

I.

Their wandering cries are in the windy street;
(O faces wan and sweet!)
What ear doth stoop to listen, eye to mark
Those footsteps in the dark?
In my warm room, full-filled with childish glee,
The still thought troubles me:
These children I call mine; what parent yours,
Ye children out-of-doors?
Fatherless, motherless, shelterless, unfed
Save crusts of bitter bread!
How dare I rest, my lids to sleep resign?—
Are ye not also mine?

12

II.

Who is it, in the deep-breathed winter night,
While snow lies starry-bright,
Knocks at my door? (Or did a passing wind
Deceive my empty mind?)
It is a little child, sore-pinched with cold,
Ragged and hunger-bold,
Houseless and friendless goes from door to door,
Knocking, as oft before.
“Arise, and let Him in!” a voice is heard,
At which my sleep was stirred
A little, oh a little! and my heart
Beat with a quickening start.
“Arise, and let Him in!”—a voice, no more,
Sleep double-locks the door;
And Christ, who, child-like, piteously came,
Leaves me to waking shame.

13

III.

He, born in each of these, the Son of God,
Walks, so disguised, abroad;
Dwells in mean places, nursed by cold and want,
Abused, half-naked, gaunt.
He goes, a homeless child, to happy homes,
Whence light, with laughter, comes
From blissful hearths, through many a shining pane.
He waits, in frost or rain.
Blessèd they are who hearken when He knocks,
And open eager locks;
Who bid from out-of-doors the stranger come,
And give the homeless home.
Oh, blessèd they who in His piteous guise
The Wanderer recognise;
The Light of the World through conscious doors they win
Who rise and let Him in!

14

IV.

Their wandering cries are in the windy street;
(O faces wan and sweet!)
What ear doth stoop to listen, eye to mark
Those footsteps in the dark?
In my warm room, full-filled with childish glee,
The still thought troubles me:
These children I call mine; what parent yours,
Ye children out-of-doors?
Fatherless, motherless, shelterless, unfed
Save crusts of bitter bread!
How dare I rest, my lids to sleep resign?—
Are ye not also mine?

17

TWO CHAPTERS OF HISTORY

(FOR A LITTLE BOY AT CHRISTMAS-TIME).

I.

Two Kings ruled in an Eastern land,
King Gentle Heart, King Mighty Hand.
With Mighty Hand the King, how fast
The fertile fields to deserts passed!
Birds flew distraught and blossoms failed;
The mothers wept, the children wailed;
All harvesters an armèd band,
The sword was in the reaper's hand;—
There shone no joyous Christmas-Day
When Mighty Hand the King had sway.

II.

Two Kings ruled in an Eastern land,
King Gentle Heart, King Mighty Hand.
With Gentle Heart the King, again
The desert grew a harvest plain;

18

Bees hummed, the blossom apples made;
Birds put delight in sun and shade;
Mothers o'er cradles crooning hung;
Strong men in wheat-fields reaping sung;—
Then Christmas came, the Children's Day,
When Gentle Heart the King had sway.

21

THE SUNSHINE OF SHADOWS.

(ON A PHOTOGRAPH OF THREE CHILDREN.)

Three children's shadow-faces look
From my familiar picture-book:
Far from their father's threshold sweet
I found them in a noisy street.
“Dear children, come with me,” I said,
“And make my home your own instead;
Your gentle looks, your tender words,
Shall mate the sunbeams, charm the birds.”
They came, but never lip is stirred
With merry laugh or mirthful word:
As in a trance at me they look
Whene'er I ope their prisoning book.
But as I gaze, in reverie bound,
The silence overflows with sound;
From garden haunts of birds and bees
Hum voices through the blossoming trees.

22

Like waters heard when breezes blow,
Light laughters waver to and fro;
Then, when my dream is gone, I say—
“Some wind has blown the sound away.’
For the light breeze, alighting brief,
Turns with its sudden wings the leaf,
And, like a passing sunshine, they
Seem so to shout and fly away!
1864

25

IN WINTER NIGHT.

We walk in the Winter wind to-night;
Our hearts have wings, we have footsteps light;
The stars of home in our breasts arise—
The window-stars shine into our eyes.
The gaslights stoop and flare in the wind,
The flying snow makes the long street blind;
Our faces warm with fireside glow—
Our hearth-fires dance at home, we know.
Hark to the feet that past us move,
Echoes of hapless hearts above!
Faces come gleaming into our own
And vanish;—we hear the feet alone.
No glamour of firelight, sweet and warm,
Defends these walkers in the storm;—
In Winter wind, through the icy street,
Ah, hopeless hearts! ah, homeless feet!

29

HALF-LIVES.

I.

Two were they, two;—but one
They might have been. Each knew
The other's spirit fittest mate, apart.
Ah, hapless! though once jealous Fortune drew
Them almost heart to heart,
In a brief-lighted sun!

II.

So near they came, and then—they are So far!
They seemed like two who pass,
Each on a world-long journey opposite,
Their two trains hurrying dark
With far-drawn roar through the dread deeps of night,

30

(Oh, faces close—they almost touched, alas!
Oh, hands that might have thrilled with meeting spark!
Oh, lips that might have kissed!
Oh, eyes with folded sight,
Dreaming some vision bright!)
In mystery and in mist.

33

TWO SISTERS.

They were two sisters, twins of a sweet mother,
Who gave to everything their wandering gladness,
Wreathing their infant arms about each other,—
Charmed with quick light each shadow-shape of sadness.
Now, having gathered childhood's blossoming years
Into their hearts, the one, ofttimes, alone,
Wears on her face high music of far spheres,
Into the still night's holy silence grown:
Angels of Heaven white-winged walk through her soul.
—Dancing her way, the other, breaking through
That starry atmosphere, with bright control,
Shows her the fairy people of moon and dew.

34

This loves the sunshine, merry-footed where
The wild-bee haunts; with her the brook is mated,—
Look, how she chases new-flowered butterflies,
Laughs like the brook and shakes her wind-caught hair;
Or, blowing bubbles, hails them worlds created,
Peopled with her gay thoughts, their suns her happy eyes!

37

THE OUTSIDE OF THE WINDOW.

They stand at the window, peering,
And pressing against the pane
Their beautiful childish faces:
Without are the night and rain.
They stand at the window, peering:
What see they, the children, there?
A room full of happy faces,
A room full of shining air!
A room full of warmth and brightness,
A room full of pleasant sights,—
Of pictures and statues and vases,
And shadows at play with the lights.
But sweetest of all, to their gazing,
(So near, they seem part of them there!)
Is the room full of happy faces
In the room full of shining air.

38

Ah me! my precious observers,
Another sight I shall find—
“What is it?” I dread to tell you,
And, oh! it were sweet to be blind!
From the lighted room, through the window,
I see, and have seen them of old,
A world full of wretched faces,
A world full of darkness and cold:
A world full of cold and darkness,
A world full of dreary sights,—
No pictures, nor statues, nor vases,
But shadows that put out the lights.
Ah, saddest of all, through the window
(They seem with us, so near!) I behold
A world full of wretched faces
In a world full of darkness and cold!

41

IN FIELD AND HIGHWAY.

I.
A COUNTRY GIRL.

Sunburnt! The lily wears no parasol,
And yet is she the whitest flower of all;
And the rose loses not her delicate blood,
Though green leaves are her seldom gypsy hood.
Margaret's was like the April's spirit in May,
Tenderly bright, gracious and softly gay;
Her smile was the utterance of a soul, unheard,
That does not need to speak its gentle word:
That word which, spoken, then would be as mild
As when an angel speaks unto a child—
As simple as the child's that does not know
It is an angel whom it answers so.
Her eyes were mirrors made for innocence
To see itself in holy confidence.

42

II.
RUTH.

(FOR A PICTURE.)

Oh, beautiful to-day she stands,
That Gleaner of far days of old,
In Oriental harvest-lands,
Framed in the harvest gold!
The Evening folds her tenderly
In holy calms of breathless air,
And only pensive-throated birds
Seem chanting to her there!
The twilight thick with banded sheaves,
(Half hidden amid its dusky glow,)
With tremulous hush of darkling leaves,—
How solitary! Lo!
She breathes for ever! They are gone—
The Reapers—their last harvest o'er,
While in the field of Memory stands
The Gleaner evermore!

43

III.
ONE BEHIND TIME.

(BY THE ROADSIDE.)

O world upon the hurrying train,
Fly on your way! For me,
A saunterer through the slighted lane,
A dreamer, let me be.
My footsteps pass away in flowers—
So fragrant all I meet!
Use the quick minutes of your hours,—
The days die here so sweet!