My snowdrops, oh my snowdrops!
How gaily, every spring,
They covered all our mossy banks
With many a fairy ring;
How delicately beautiful
Their little blossoms were,
Like tiny spirits hovering
Upon the chilly air.
My snowdrops, oh my snowdrops!
I shall never, without pain,
See your little fragile blossoms
In the early spring again:
For my only one, my loved one,
A fragile thing like you,
Both came to me and left me
In the spring as snowdrops do.
Like the crimson light of sunset
Streaming through a wreath of snow,
So soft upon her pallid cheek,
The hectic fever's glow.
As fading snowdrops gently sink
Upon the cold earth's breast,
So gently sank my holy child
To her eternal rest.
TO A LITTLE GIRL ON HER BIRTHDAY.
My only one, my loved one!
I shall see her yet again, When I too am transplanted
From this world of grief and pain.
Her snowdrops, oh! her snowdrops
Shall be ever dear to me;
I will cherish them as emblems
Of her immortality.
FROM THE DOVE ON THE CROSS."
TO A LITTLE GIRL ON HER BIRTHDAY.
DEAR child, that on life's
Floatest yet as in a dream,
To those who watch thy gentle way,
Thoughts, full and earnest, rise to-day,
Thoughts of love, and hope, and care,
A blessing deep, a silent prayer.
Fairest child, thy tender form,
God protect from hurt or storm.
I could dream thy peaceful face,
Pure and mild, and full of grace,
Gleaming delicately fair
Between thy even-falling hair,
TO A LITTLE GIRL ON HER BIRTHDAY.
Were some lily, sailing ever
In a stream, whose waters sever,
Trembling round on either side
In a little shining tide.
Let us then, for emblem bright,
Take the water-lily white.
And, when life is flowing strong
With its deep and mystic song,
Be thou rooted, firm and well,
Far beneath the river's swell.
Let the waters, as they go,
Lift thee high, or bend thee low,
Still, with constant, trustful breast,
Thou shalt be a flower at rest,
With a soft and sunny grace
Making bright thy dwelling-place
Shedding down a lovely beam
On the passing of the stream,
Yet with pure and stedfast eye
Gazing upward to the sky.
So when Christ's own Bride shall twine,
In a wreath, her flowers divine;
Flowers, like priceless jewels, stored
For the coming of her Lord,
In that wreath she then shall wear,
Thou shalt shine the lily fair.
ONE by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going,
Do thou strive to grasp them all.
One by one thy duties wait thee,
Let thy whole strength go to each;
Let no future dreams elate thee,
Learn thou first what these can teach.
One by one (bright gifts from Heaven,)
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,
Ready too, to let them go.
Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond;
Nor the daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.
Do not look on life's long sorrow,
See how small each moment's pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
Every day begin again.
Every hour that passes slowly
Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown and holy,
If thou set each gem with care.
Hours are golden links, God's tokens,
Reaching Heaven-but one by one
Take them, lest the chain be broken
E'er the pilgrimage be done.
"ОH! call my brother back to me,
I cannot play alone;
The summer comes with flower and bee,—
Where is my brother gone?
"The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sunbeam's track;
I care not now to chase its flight,—
Oh! call my brother back!
"The flowers run wild-the flowers we sowed
Around the garden tree;
Our vine is drooping with its load ;-
Oh! call him back to me !"
"He would not hear my voice, fair child!
He may not come to thee;
The face, that once like spring-time smiled, On earth no more thou'lt see.
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