Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander :: :: University of Virginia Library

“I told the Pastor all my woes,
And fears for Lilian's sad estate,
And he did tell me words, like those
I spake to thee of late;
And bade me pray right earnestly,
For her soul's final victory.

“The good old Priest, he would not leave
Her foot to wander where it would.
To him the evil and the good,
Were children all; and he did grieve
If one poor sinner went astray,
And prayed, and sought him night and day;
As shepherd on some barren track,
If one small lambkin be not found,
Seeks all the desert region round,
Until he bear the lost one back.

183

“The lamb that his own arm had borne,
And with the holy water crossed,
Upon her soul's baptismal morn
He would not see her lost.

“And many a time when winter's snow,
Along the trackless glen lay white;
And when the summer sun did glow,
At early dawn, at pale twilight;
Or when the sultry noon was hot,
I saw him seeking the lone spot.

“And many a time I tound him there,
In that poor cottage rude and bare,
Sweet Lilian with uplifted head,
Intent on holy rule or prayer;
While the deaf grandam in her

chair
Sat spinning out her weary thread.

“'Twas marvellous how the good Priest loved
Those hours of childish communing:
It seemed the old Saint, tried and proved,
Whose foot th' eternal threshold trod,
Loved best the pure and gentle things,
Come freshest from the hand of God;
And his dim eye would catch the light
Of her sweet smile so glad and bright,
As night is beautiful, when day
Just tints it with its purple ray.

184

“Thus did he sow the precious seed,
And fast and fair the blossoms grew,
She could not write, she could not read,
That gentle child; and yet she knew,
To my poor thought, far more in sooth
Than learned age or lettered youth.

“The good church bells did never chime,
But Lilian came there every time,
Till the old man would laughing say,
‘Sweet Lilian’ told the hour of day;
(This name they gave her for the grace,
And gentleness of her sweet face.)
And when she knelt with downcast eyes
The village dames a sigh would give,
And say the poor child could not live,
She was so young and wise.—

“It was the first month of the year,
And good King Charles would hunt the deer,
Within Sir Geoffrey's park;
A gallant sight to see, good sir,
The whole small hamlet was astir,
While yet the morn was dark.

“The frost that with his iron hand,
Had bound the stream, and held the land,
For many a bitter day,
Had loosed his hold, and all the earth
As prescient of the spring's new birth,
In wintry garb looked gay.

185

“Three times I saw the chase sweep by:
How loud and deep the good hounds cried!
Each man of that high company,
How bravely did he ride!

“The earliest snowdrops just had burst
With pure white leaf their verdant shell,
They always sprang and blossomed first
In Lilian's sheltered dell.

“At early morn the child would go,
Of those sweet flowers, as white as snow,
A posy fresh to bring,
And tied it with a silken thread;
And when I asked, she smiled, and said,
That it was for the king.

“The chase was o'er at middle day,
Short time for food or rest might be,
The monarch's towers were far away,
And all the hamlet stood to see,
As he came from the hostel room,
While waiting round in their due course,
Were belted knight, and squire, and groom,
To see the king to horse:

“When in her Sunday kirtle dressed,
Holding her simple offering,
Sweet Lilian through the people pressed,
And knelt before the king.

186

“She told him, she had been to cull
Those flowers for him at morning fair;
And the good king so beautiful,
With his long flowing hair,
And his dark melancholy eyes,
He did not bid the fair child rise,
But stooped down 'mid his smiling band,
And raised her with his royal hand.

“Then with such sweet and gentle look,
So fatherly and mild,
Kindly the simple gift he took,
And to his lip, and to his breast,
With grateful action courteous pressed,
And answered to the child,
Fair maiden, this good horse of ours,
He will not let us ride with flowers,
Thy fragrant gift I may not take,
But thou shalt wear for Charles's sake,
What Charles's hand has bound.’
The monarch took his light gold chain,
He tied the posy round and round,
And gave it to the child again.

“The king rode from the hostelry,
The people shouted loud and clear;
There stood in little Lilian's eye
And on her crimson cheek a tear,
I know not if 'twas joy, or fear,
Or haply a dim shadow drear,
From sad futurity.

187

“Poor innocent! that glittering band,
She gave it to her father's hand,
She caréd not for gold at all,
But ever told me she loved best
The flowers the king's own lip had pressed,
And still at each high festival,
She wore them in her vest.

“Thus lovelier, better, year by year,
The poor man's child did grow more dear,
And wise, and gentle in our sight.
For never yet the heart has beat,
Too mean, too lowly, too unmeet,
To do its proper part aright,
Nor hand hath been too weak, or small,
To work for Him Who works for all.