ART thou weary, little Minnie ?
Lay thy head upon my knee:
It makes the old man's heart rejoice
Thy sunny face to see.
Well may the aged falter,
Who tread life's rugged way,
When even little Minnie
Grows weary of her play.
Tell thee a story, Minnie?
Nay, I am growing old,
And all the stories of my youth
Long since to thee were told.
But if thou'lt listen, darling,
There is something I would say,
That you may oft remember
When I have passed away.
Minnie! my sweetest thought for years, That's cheered me many a day,
Is the memory of the mother
Who taught me first to pray. Minnie! do you remember
Your gentle mother too,
Whose only grief in dying
Was the thought of leaving you?
Ah, child! I mind me of the time-
A tiny babe wert thou-
When the pure baptismal water
Was sprinkled on thy brow.
Thy mother gave me one pet lamb
One of Christ's flock to be:
Now in the fields of Paradise,
She waiteth there for thee.
Ah, Minnie! little Minnie!
When at the close of day
You kneel beside your little bed
Your evening prayer to say;
Then pray to God to aid thee
To keep thy mother's vow,
That sin's dark shadow may not rest
Upon thy fair young brow.
"Remember thy Creator!"
These words were kindly given,
Even as a Father's hand, that leads
His little ones to heaven.
Ah, Minnie! closely hold His hand
As through life's path you roam :
Though rough and stormy be the way,
"Twill safely lead you home.
And when they lay me by her side,
In the peaceful churchyard there,
And you sometimes gaze with tearful eyes
Upon this vacant chair,
These words, perchance, your lonely heart
Will soothe 'mid grief and pain;
Think darling we who loved you here
Will meet with you again,
Good-night, my little Minnie!
You're weary now, I know;—
Yes, twine your arms around me,
And kiss me ere you go;
Then hie thee to thy chamber—
Another day is gone;
Good-night, my precious Minnie!
God bless thee, little one!
FAINT and listless in its cradle
Lies the babe, nor sleeps a wink,
Will not bear to eat a morsel,
Will not ope its lips to drink.
Ah! its mother is departed,
And the lips it loved are still,
Lips that sung it into slumber,
Numb the breast it seeks and chill.
Yesterday the gloomy bearers
Carried forth her bier from home;
Now the unthinking weeper's finger
Beckons one who may not come.
TO AN INFANT SMILING AS IT AWOKE.
And the hour of dusk is coming,
Yet no more the babe can sleep;
By the door, with soundless gliding,
Lo! a woman's form doth sweep.
Waving white, a gauzy mantle
Falls the silent one to hide;
Sure she once hath known the chamber,
Now she's by the cradle's side.
There she rocks the child to slumber,
Singing low no mortal tone;
Thrice she kissed and thrice she crossed it,
Bent to bless it and was gone.
Seven days in dusky gloaming
Came that silent one again,
Stilled the child's distress and weeping,
Lulled with song its waking pain.
When the eighth grey eve was falling,
Still and mute the child was found;
Snowy white and crimson roses
Had its cradle decked around.
In the weird night, dumb with sorrow,
Bear they off the babe to rest,
To her new-made grave, and lay it
Close beside its mother's breast.
TO AN INFANT SMILING AS IT AWOKE.
AFTER the sleep of night as some still lake
Displays the cloudless heaven in reflection,
And, dimpled by the breezes, seems to break
Into a waking smile of recollection,
As if from its calm depths the morning light
Called up the pleasant dreams that gladdened night-
So doth the laughing azure of those eyes
Display a mental heaven of its own:
In that illumined smile I recognise
The sunlight of a sphere to us unknown;
Thou hast been dreaming of some previous bliss
In other worlds-for thou art new to this.
Hast thou been wafted to elysian bowers
In some blest star, where thou hast pre-existed;
Inhaled the ecstatic fragrancy of flowers
About the golden harps of seraphs twisted;
Or heard the nightingales of paradise
Hymn choral songs and joyous harmonies ?
Perchance all breathing life is but an essence
Of the great Fountain Spirit in the sky,
And hast thou dreamed of that transcendent Presence
Whence thou hast fallen-a dewdrop from on high-
Destined to lose, as thou shalt mix with earth,
Those bright recallings of thy heavenly birth.
We deem thy mortal memory but begun;
But hast thou no remembrance of the past,
No lingering twilight of a former sun
Which o'er thy slumbering faculties hath cast
Shadows of unimaginable things
Too high, or deep, for human fathomings?
Perhaps, while reason's earliest fount is heightening,
Athwart thine eyes celestial sights are given,
As skies that open to let out the lightning
Display a transitory glimpse of heaven;
And thou art wrapt in visions all too bright
For aught but seraphim, or infant's sight.
Emblem of heavenly purity and bliss!
Mysterious type, which none can understand!
Let me with reverence then approach to kiss
Limbs lately touched by the Creator's hand.
So awful art thou, that I feel more prone
To ask thy blessing than bestow mine own.
OH! 'tis a touching thing to make one weep;
A tender infant with its curtained eye,
Breathing as it would neither live nor die,
With that unmoving countenance of sleep,
As if its silent dream, serene and deep,
Had lined its slumbers with a still blue sky,
So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie,
With no more life than roses, just to keep
The blushes warm, and the mild odorous breath.
O blossom boy! so calm is thy repose,
So sweet a compromise of life and death,
'Tis pity those fair buds should e'er unclose,
For memory to stain their inward leaf,
Tingeing thy dreams with unacquainted grief.
My ain auld wife, oh! hoo it cheers
My heart tae see ye there
Sittin', my ae best frien' on earth,
Within the auld arm-chair.
I look intil yer weel-kent face,
I read yer patient smile,
An' years o' life's way-wanderings
Seem dwindled til a mile.
They say your locks are grey, dear wife,
An' dim yer ance bricht e'e;
It may be sae tae ithers' e'en,
But never sae tae me.
Then dinna think, my ain auld wife,
O' thee I'm grown less fain;
Nae wrinkle on thy cheek but I
Could kiss, an' kiss again.
When forty lang, lang years sin syne
I took thee by the han',
I then ca'd you my dear guidwife,
An' ye ca'd me guidman.
Oor love intil oor ain heart's bank
We put it safe to keep,
An' noo, at compound interest,
It's grown a miser's heap.
The blossoms o' our youth's love tree,
Whilk Heav'n ga'e to us twa,
There's some lie here, there's some lie there,
But a' hae gane awa'
Tae their blessed land o' peacefu' rest,
Bricht wi' eternal beams,
Beckoning us tae follow them
I see them in my dreams.
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