THE HOUSEHOLD DARLING.
LITTLE Ella-fairest, dearest,
Unto me and unto mine;
Earthly cherub, coming nearest
To my dreams of shapes divine!
Her brief absence frets and pains me,
Her bright presence solace brings;
Her spontaneous love restrains me
From a hundred selfish things.
THE HOUSEHOLD DARLING.
Little Ella moveth lightly,
Like a graceful fawn at play,
Like a brooklet, running brightly
In the genial smile of May;
Like a breeze upon the meadows
All besprent with early flowers;
Like a bird, 'mid sylvan shadows,
In the golden summer hours.
You should see her, when with nature
She goes forth to think or play,
Every limb and every feature
Drinking in the joy of day.
Stooping oft 'mid floral splendour,
Snatching colours and perfumes,
She doth seem so fair and tender,
Kin to the ambrosial blooms.
Sweet thought sitteth like a garland
On her placid brows and eyes,—
Eyes which seem to see a far land
Through the intervening skies.
And she seems to listen often
To some voice above the spheres,
Whilst her earnest features soften
Into calmness-kin to tears.
Not all mirthful is her manner:
Though no laugh so blithe as hers,
Grave demeanour comes upon her
When her inmost nature stirs.
When a gentle lip reproves her,
All her gladsome graces flee,
But the word " forgiveness" moves her
With new joy, and sets her free.
Should a shade of sickness near me,
Then she takes a holier grace,
Comes to strengthen and to cheer me
With her angel light of face.
Up the stair I hear her coming
Duly at the morning hour,
Sweetly singing, softly humming,
Like a bee about a flower.
Good looks wake ecstatic feelings
In her undeveloped mind;
Holy thoughts, whose high revealings,
Teach her love for human kind.
Music thrills her with a fervour
Like the songs of seraphim:
May bright spirits teach and nerve her
To partake the perfect hymn.
God of heaven, in Thy good feeling,
Spare this darling child to me!
Spare me this unsullied being
Till she brings me close to Thee.
Unseen angels, bless her, mould her
Into goodness, clothed in grace,
That on high I may behold her
Talking with ye face to face.
OH, say not, dream not, heavenly notes
To childish ears are vain!
That the young mind at random floats,
And cannot reach the strain.
Dim or unheard the words may fall,
And yet the heaven-taught mind
May learn the sacred air, and all
The harmony unwind.
Was not our Lord-a little child-
Taught by degrees to pray?
By father dear and mother mild
Instructed day by day?
And loved He not of heaven to talk,
With children in His sight,
To meet them in his daily walk,
And to His arms invite?
THE HUMAN SEASONS.
What though, around His throne of fire,
The everlasting chant
Be wafted from the seraph choir
In glory jubilant?
Yet stoops He, ever pleased to mark
Our rude essays of love,
Faint as the pipe of wakening lark,
Hard by some twilight grove.
Yet is He near us to survey
These bright and ordered files,
Like spring flowers in their best array,
All silence and all smiles.
Save that each little voice in turn
Some glorious truth proclaims,
What sages would have died to learn,
Now taught by cottage dames.
THE HUMAN SEASONS.
FOUR seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man.
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy space.
He has his Summer, when luxuriously,
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate; and by such dreaming nigh,
Is nearest unto heaven. Quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness,-to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter, too, of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
WHEN I consider how my life is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent, which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He, returning, chide;
"Doth God exact day labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's works or His own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve Him best.
Is kingly thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."
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