Of many a blessed moment,
Her little rest above,
We hung in marvelling stillness,
In ecstasy of love.
'Twill mind us, radiant sunshine
For all our shadowed days,
Of all her baby wonderings,
Of all her little ways,
Of all her tiny shoutings,
Of all her starts and fears,
And sudden mirths out-gleaming
Through eyes yet hung with tears
There's not a care—a watching—
A hope-a laugh—a fear,
Of all her little bringing,
But we shall find it here.
Then, tiny golden warder,
Oh safely ever hold
This glossy silken memory,
This little curl of gold.
SLEEP! the bird is in its nest;
Sleep! the bee is hushed in rest;
Sleep! rocked on thy mother's breast!
Lullaby!
To thy mother's fond heart pressed,
Lullaby!
Sleep! the waning daylight dies;
Sleep! the stars dream in the skies;
Daisies long have closed their eyes;
Calm, how calm on all things lies!
Sleep then, sleep! my heart's delight! Sleep! and through the darksome night Round thy bed God's angels bright,
HERE Spring's tenderest nurslings set, Wind-flowers and the violet;
Here the white-drooped snowdrop frail,
And the lily of the vale;
All of sweetness passing soon,
Withering ere the year be noon;
For the little rester here,
Like these infants of the year,
Was, O grief! as fair as they,
And as quickly fled away.
Here the gusts of wild March blow
But in murmurs faint and low;
Ever here, when Spring is green,
Be the brightest verdure seen;
And when June's in field and glade,
Here be ever freshest shade.
Here hued Autumn latest stay,
Latest call the flowers away;
And when Winter's shrilling by,
Here its snows the warmest lie;
For a little life is here,
Hid in earth, for ever dear,
And this grassy heap above
Sorrow broods and weeping love,
On this little grassy mound
Never be the darnel found:
Ne'er be venomed nettle seen
On this little heap of green;
For the little lost one here
Was too sweet for aught of fear,
Aught of harm to harbour nigh
This green spot where she must lie;
So be nought but sweetness found
On this little grassy mound.
Here in gentle pity, Spring,
Let thy sweetest voices sing;
Nightingale, be here thy song
Charmed by grief to linger long ;
Here the thrush with longest stay
Pipe its pleasant song to day,
And the blackbird warble shrill
All its passion latest still;
Still the old grey tower above
Her small nest, the swallow love,
And through all June's honied hours
Booming bees hum in its flowers;
And when comes the eve's cold gray
Murmuring gnats unresting play
Weave, while, round, the beetle's flight
Drones across the shadowing night;
For the sweetness dreaming here
Was a gladness to the year,
And the sad months all should bring
Dirges o'er her sleep to sing.
Haunter of the opening year,
Ever be the primrose here;
Whitest daisies deck the spot,
Pansies and forget-me-not,
Fairest things that earliest fly,
Sweetness blooming but to die;
For this blossom, o'er whose fall
Sorrow sighs, was fair as all,
But, alas, as frail as they,
All as quickly fled away.
MARVEL, baby, 'tis to me
What thy little thoughts can be,
What the meanings small, that reach
Hearing in thy mites of speech,
Sayings that no language know
More than coo, and cry, and crow,
Would-be words, that hide away
All that they themselves would say,
Tiny fancies courting sight,
Masked from all in shrouding night;
Fain its secret I'd beguile
From the mystery of thy smile;
Fain would fathom all that lies
In thy pleasure and surprise,
In the fancies flitting through
Those two eyes of wondering blue,
In thy starts and tiny fears,
Gleams of joy and fleeting tears.
Ah, in vain I seek to win
Way to the small life within!
Curious thought no clue can find
To that wondrous world, thy mind,
That its little sights hath shown
Unto fancy's gaze alone;
Therefore do I converse hold
Oft with fancy, to unfold
All the marvels of its seeing,
Wordless mysteries of thy being;
Then of all seen things it tells,
Unto thee, high miracles;
How thy baby fancy lingers,
Wondering minutes, o'er thy fingers,
Or, still marvelling more and more,
Eyes thy pinked feet o'er and o'er ;
How the world and all things seem
Airy shadows of a dream,
Unsubstantial-forms unreal,
Out to which thy graspings feel
Wavering stretchings, marvelling much
At the mystery of a touch h;
How with little shout thou'dst pass
To thy likeness in the glass,
Or thy little talks are told
Unto all thou dost behold,
Guessed-at griefs and baby joys
Crowed to busy sister's toys,
Or, in murmurings low, rehearsed
To the kitten for thee nursed.
So with fancy do I dream,
Baby mine, until I seem
All the little thoughts to know,
All thy little acts below,
Till thought comes and bids me own
That I dream and dream alone.
Yet one surety lies above
Reason's doubtings-thine is love,
Love abundant, leaping out
In thy lighted look and shout,
In thy joy that sorrow dumbs,
In thy bubbling laugh that comes
Ever still with glad surprise
When thy mother meets thine eyes.
Love is in thy eager watch
Ever strained her form to catch,
In thy glance that, place to place,
Tracks the gladness of her face,
In thy hush of joy that charms
Cries to stillness in her arms,
Calms of rapture, blessing, blest,
Rosy nestlings in her breast,
Dreaming eyes for ever raising
Raptured gazes to her gazing,
Gaze so blessed, sure we deem
Heaven is in thy happy dream.
So our love would have it be
Ever, little Kate, with thee;
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