The great sea oped her mouth, and closed O'er them. Awhile they trod The valley of the shadow of death, And then were safe with G.o.d.

My little girlies--What! your tears Are dropping on the gra.s.s, Over my more than "fairy" tale, A tale that "really was!"

Nay, dry them. If we could but see The joy in angels' eyes O'er good lives, or heroic deaths Of pure self-sacrifice,--

We should not weep o'er these that sleep-- Their short, sharp struggle o'er-- Under the rolling waves that break Upon the Afric sh.o.r.e.

G.o.d works not as man works, nor sees As man sees: though we mark Ofttimes the moving of His hands Beneath the eternal Dark.

But yet we know that all is well That He, who loved all these, Loves children laughing on the moor, Birds singing in the trees;

That He who made both life and death, He knoweth which is best: We live to Him, we die to Him, And leave Him all the rest.

BIRDS IN THE SNOW

CHILD

I WISH I were a little bird When the sun shines And the wind whispers low, Through the tall pines, I'd rock in the elm tops, Rifle the pear-tree, Hide in the cherry boughs, O such a rare tree!

I wish I were a little bird; All summer long I'd fly so merrily Sing such a song!

Song that should never cease While daylight lasted, Wings that should never tire Howe'er they hasted.

MOTHER

But if you were a little bird-- My baby-blossom.

Nestling so cosily In mother's bosom,-- A bird, as we see them now, When the snows harden, And the wind's blighting breath Howls round the garden:

What would you do, poor bird, In winter drear?

No nest to creep into, No mother near: Hungry and desolate, Weary and woeful, All the earth bound with frost, All the sky snow-full?

CHILD (_thoughtfully_).

That would be sad, and yet Hear what I'd do-- Mother, in winter time I'd come to you!

If you can like the birds Spite of their thieving, Give them your trees to build, Garden to live in,

I think if I were a bird When winter comes I'd trust you, mother dear, For a few crumbs, Whether I sang or not, Were lark, thrush, or starling.--

MOTHER (_aside_).

Then--Father--I trust _Thee_ With this my darling.

THE LITTLE COMFORTER

"WHAT is wrong with my big brother?"

Says the child; For they two had got no mother And she loved him like no other: If he smiled, All the world seemed bright and gay To this happy little May.

If to her he sharply spoke, This big brother-- Then her tender heart nigh broke; But the cruel pain that woke, She would smother-- As a little woman can;-- Was he not almost a man?

But when trouble or disgrace Smote the boy, She would lift her gentle face-- Surely 'twas her own right place.

To bring joy?

For she loved him--loved him so!

Whether he was good or no

May be he will never feel Half her love; Wound her, and forget to heal: Idle words are sharp as steel: But above, I know what the angels say Of this silent little May.

DON'T BE AFRAID.

DON'T be afraid of the dark, My daughter, dear as my soul!

You see but a part of the gloomy world, But I--I have seen the whole, And I know each step of the fearsome way, Till the shadows brighten to open day.

Don't be afraid of pain, My tender little child: When its smart is worst there comes strength to bear, And it seems as if angels smiled,-- As I smile, dear, when I hurt you now.

In binding up that wound on your brow.

Don't be afraid of grief, 'Twill come--as night follows day, But the bleakest sky has tiny rifts When the stars shine through--as to say Wait, wait a little--till night is o'er And beautiful day come back once more.

O child, be afraid of sin, But have no other fear, For G.o.d's in the dark, as well as the light; And while we can feel Him near, His hand that He gives, His love that He gave, Lead safely, even to the dark of the grave.

GIRL AND BOY

ALFRED is gentle as a girl, But Judith longs to be a boy!

Would cut off every pretty curl With eager joy!

Hates to be called "my dear"--or kissed: For dollies does not care one fig: Goes, sticking hands up to the wrist In jackets big.

Would like to do whate'er boy can; Play cricket--even to go school: It is so grand to be a man!

A girl's a fool!

But Alfred smiles superior love On all these innocent vagaries.

He'd hate a goose! but yet a dove Ah, much more rare is!

She's anything but dove, good sooth!

But she's his dear and only sister: And, had she been a boy, in truth How he'd have missed her.

So, gradually her folly dies, And she'll consent to be just human, When there shines out of girlish eyes The real Woman.

AGNES AT PRAYER