University of Virginia Library

CHILD GOING TO SLEEP.

Men are so wicked, father says—he knows,
Who never did or felt a naughty deed
And loves them all, from surly Sol the miser
To our good Queen. Ah, how the river flows
And scatters round it life, and none take heed
Though wealthier for its gifts—yet none the wiser.
Chitter, chatter, pitter, patter,
Through the village street;
Laughing, lisping, creeping crisping
With its pretty feet.
That's me—or rather how I want to live
And minister to every one in need,
By sowing here a kindness as a seed
And there what little comfort I can give
Out of my slender store. I see the fetter
Of evil binding hand and foot and fast
The multitude, that fight and fall at last—
And I do long to make the wide world better!
True, I am very small and but a child,
Who cannot come and go as others may
And walk about and work—and only seven;
But then, though sinners are so rude and wild,
They would not hurt me on my humble way
And I might show them too the path to Heaven.
How the wind blows! Like a lost baby crying
Among the trees and shadows, as it goes
And hardly touches earth with just the toes—
It must be weary of such ceaseless flying.
Hurry, hurry, flurry flurry,
Never taking rest;
Rustle, rustle, bustle, bustle,
With its burdened breast.
Yes, I should dearly like to wander free
As that among the busy crowds and sing
And bear them blessings, though they could not see
The giver. Yet I would not ever cry,
At least not loud, nor harm a bonnet string
Nor set a single hair a bit awry
With blustering blast; I would play proper tunes
And make all months as pleasant as rose Junes.
At morning I would rouse the lazy sleepers
With trumpet notes, and when the evening fell
I should breathe on them just a quiet spell
And rock them out of all their misery—
The suffering souls and overwrought, and weepers,
And dear tired children's heavy breast and brow—
With music of the softest lullaby,
Like that sweet silence falling on me now.