My little boy, with smooth, fair cheeks, And dreamy, large, brown eyes, Not often, little wisehead, speaks, But hearing, weighs and tries.
"God is not only in the sky," His sister said one day-- Not older much, but she would cry Like Wisdom in the way--
"He's in this room." His dreamy, clear, Large eyes look round for God: In vain they search, in vain they peer; His wits are all abroad!
"He is not here, mamma? No, no; I do not see him at all! He's not the shadows, is he?" So His doubtful accents fall--
Fall on my heart, no babble mere! They rouse both love and shame: But for earth's loneliness and fear, I might be saying the same!
Nay, sometimes, ere the morning break And home the shadows flee, In my dim room even yet I take Those shadows, Lord, for thee!
Heavily slumbered noonday bright Upon the lone field, glory-dight, A burnished grassy sea: The child, in gorgeous golden hours, Through heaven-descended starry flowers, Went walking on the lea.
Velvety bees make busy hum; Green flies and striped wasps go and come; The butterflies gleam white; Blue-burning, vaporous, to and fro The dragon-flies like arrows go, Or hang in moveless flight:--
Not one she followed; like a rill She wandered on with quiet will; Received, but did not miss; Her step was neither quick nor long; Nought but a snatch of murmured song Ever revealed her bliss.
An almost solemn woman-child, Not fashioned frolicsome and wild, She had more love than glee; And now, though nine and nothing more, Another little child she bore, Almost as big as she.
No silken cloud from solar harms Had she to spread; with shifting arms She dodged him from the sun; Mother and sister both in heart, She did a gracious woman's part, Life's task even now begun!
They came upon a stagnant ditch, The slippery sloping banks of which More varied blossoms line; Some ragged-robins baby spies, Stretches his hands, and crows and cries, Plain saying, "They are mine!"
What baby wants, that baby has-- A law unalterable as The poor shall serve the rich: They are beyond her reach--almost! She kneels, she strains, and, too engrossed, Topples into the ditch.
Adown the side she slanting rolled, But her two arms convulsive hold The precious baby tight; She lets herself sublimely go, And in the ditch's muddy flow Stands up, in evil plight.