Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

O the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my king!

When those beautiful lips are suing,
And some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest love-glorified. Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair,

For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,
Philip, my king.

Up from thy sweet mouth,-up to thy brow,
Philip, my king!

The spirit that there lies sleeping now

May rise like a giant and make men bow

As to one heaven-chosen among his peers.

My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer,

Let me behold thee in future years!—

Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my king.

-A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day,
Philip, my king!

Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way
Thorny and cruel and cold and gray:

Rebels within thee, and foes without,

But march on,

Will snatch at thy crown.
Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

glorious,

As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious,

"Philip, the king!"

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]

THE KING OF THE CRADLE

DRAW back the cradle curtains, Kate,

While watch and ward you're keeping,

Let's see the monarch in his state,

And view him while he's sleeping..

He smiles and clasps his tiny hand,

With sunbeams o'er him gleaming,- 1

A world of baby fairyland

He visits while he's dreaming.

The King of the Cradle!

Monarch of pearly powder-puff,....!

Asleep in nest so cosy,

Shielded from breath of breezes rough

By curtains warm and rosy:

He slumbers soundly in his cell,

As weak as one decrepid,

Though King of Coral, Lord of Bell,
And Knight of Bath that's tepid. Dry F

Ah, lucky tyrant! Happy lot!

b

T

[ocr errors]

Fair watchers without number,
Who sweetly sing beside his cot,
And hush him off to slumber;
White hands in wait to smooth so neat
His pillow when its rumpled-
A couch of rose leaves soft and sweet,
Not one of which is crumpled!"

Will yonder dainty dimpled hand-

Size, nothing and a quarter

E'er grasp a saber, lead a band
To glory and to slaughter?
Or, may I ask, will those blue eyes—
In baby patois, "peepers"-

E'er in the House of Commons rise,

And try to catch the Speaker's?

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Will that smooth brow o'er Hansard frown,/.

Confused by lore statistic?

Or will those lips e'er stir the town

From pulpit ritualistic?

یر اردو

Will e'er that tiny Sybarite..

Become an author noted?

That little brain the world's delight,

Its works by all men quoted?. «<!

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Though rosy, dimpled, plump, and round
Though fragile, soft, and tender,
Sometimes, alas! it may be found on thả 520
The thread of life is slender! T

23$

A little shoe, a little glove-
Affection never waning-
The shattered idol of our love
Is all that is remaining!

Then does one chance, in fancy, hear,
Small feet in childish patter,
Tread soft as they a grave draw near,
And voices hush their chatter;
'Tis small and new; they pause in fear,
Beneath the gray church tower,

To consecrate it with a tear,

And deck it with a flower.

Who can predict the future, Kate-
Your fondest aspiration!

Who knows the solemn laws of fate,

That govern all creation?

Who knows what lot awaits your boy→

Of happiness or sorrow?

Sufficient for to-day is joy,

Leave tears, Sweet, for to-morrow!

[ocr errors]

Joseph Ashby-Sterry [1838-1917]

THE FIRSTBORN

So fair, so dear, so warm upon my bosom,
And in my hands the little rosy feet.

Sleep on, my little bird, my lamb, my blossom;
Sleep on, sleep on, my sweet.

What is it God hath given me to cherish,
This living, moving wonder which is mine.
Mine only? Leave it with me or I perish,
Dear Lord of love divine.

Dear Lord, 'tis wonderful beyond all wonder,
This tender miracle vouchsafed to me,
One with myself, yet just so far asunder
That I myself may see.

No Baby in the House

Flesh of my flesh, and yet so subtly linking
New selfs with old, all things that I have been
With present joys beyond my former thinking
And future things unseen.

There life began, and here it links with heaven,
The golden chain of years scarce dipped adown
From birth, ere once again a hold is given

And nearer to God's Throne.

Seen, held in arms and clasped around so tightly,—
My love, my bird, I will not let thee go.
Yet soon the little rosy feet must lightly
Go pattering to and fro.

Mine, Lord, all mine Thy gift and loving token.
Mine-yes or no, unseen its soul divine?

Mine by the chain of love with links unbroken,
Dear Saviour, Thine and mine.

John Arthur Goodchild [1851

NO BABY IN THE HOUSE

No baby in the house, I know,
'Tis far too nice and clean.
No toys, by careless fingers strewn,
Upon the floors are seen.

No finger-marks are on the panes,
No scratches on the chairs;
No wooden men set up in rows,
Or marshaled off in pairs;
No little stockings to be darned,
All ragged at the toes;
No pile of mending to be done,

Made up of baby-clothes;
No little troubles to be soothed;
No little hands to fold;

No grimy fingers to be washed;

No stories to be told;

25

No tender kisses to be given;

No nicknames, "Dove" and "Mouse"; No merry frolics after tea,

No baby in the house!

Clara Dolliver (18

OUR WEE WHITE ROSE

From "The Mother's Idol Broken "

ALL in our marriage garden
Grew, smiling up to God,
A bonnier flower than ever

Sucked the green warmth of the sod;
O, beautiful unfathomably

Its little life unfurled;

And crown of all things was our wee
White Rose of all the world.

From out a balmy bosom

Our bud of beauty grew;
It fed on smiles for sunshine,
On tears for daintier dew:
Aye nestling warm and tenderly,
Our leaves of love were curled
So close and close about our wee
White Rose of all the world.

With mystical faint fragrance
Our house of life she filled;
Revealed each hour some fairy tower
Where winged hopes might build!
We saw-though none like us might see-
Such precious promise pearled

Upon the petals of our wee

White Rose of all the world.

But evermore the halo

Of angel-light increased, Like the mystery of moonlight

That folds some fairy feast.

« ZurückWeiter »