Chapter 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 God'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

"OUR Father which art in heaven,"
Little Agnes prays,
Though her kneeling is but show,
Though she is too young to know
All, or half she says.
God will hear her, Agnes mild,
God will love the innocent child.

"Our Father which art in heaven."
She has a father here,
Does she think of his kind eyes,
Tones that ne'er in anger rise--
"Yes, dear," or "No, dear."
They will haunt her whole life long
Like a sweet pathetic song.

"Our Father which art in heaven,"
Through thy peaceful prayer,
Think of the known father's face,
Of his bosom, happy place;
Safely sheltered there;
And so blessed--long may He bless!
Think too of the fatherless.

GOING TO WORK

COME along for the work is ready--
Rough it may be, rough, tough and hard--
But--fourteen years old--stout, strong and steady,
Life's game's beginning, lad!--play your card--
Come along.

Mother stands at the door-step crying
Well but she has a brave heart too:
She'll try to be glad--there's nought like trying,
She's proud of having a son like you.
Come along.

Young as she is, her hair is whitening,
She has ploughed thro' years of sorrow deep,
She looks at her boy, and her eyes are brightening,
Shame if ever you make them weep!
Come along.

Bravo! See how the brown cheek flushes!
Ready to work as hard as you can?
I have always faith in a boy that blushes,
None will blush for him, when he's a man.
Come along.

THREE COMPANIONS

WE go on our way together,
Baby, and dog, and I;
Three merry companions,
'Neath any sort of sky;
Blue as her pretty eyes are,
Or gray, like his dear old tail;
Be it windy, or cloudy, or stormy,
Our courage does never fail.

Sometimes the snow lies thickly,
Under the hedge-row bleak;
Then baby cries "Pretty, pretty,"
The only word she can speak.
Sometimes two rivers of water
Run down the muddy lane;
Then dog leaps backwards and forwards
Barking with might and main.

Baby's a little lady,
Dog is a gentleman brave:
If he had two legs as you have
He'd kneel to her like a slave;
As it is he loves and protects her,
As dog and gentleman can;
I'd rather be a kind doggie
I think, than a brute of a man.

THE MOTHERLESS CHILD

SHE was going home down the lonely street,
A widow-woman with weary feet
And weary eyes that seldom smiled:
She had neither mother, sister, nor child.
She earned her bread with a patient heart,
And ate it quietly and apart,
In her silent home from day to day,
No one to say her "ay," or "nay."

She was going home without care to haste;
What should she haste for? On she paced
Through the snowy night so bleak and wild,
When she thought she heard the cry of a child,
A feeble cry, not of hunger or pain,
But just of sorrow. It came again.
She stopped--she listened--she almost smiled--
"That sounds like a wail of a motherless child."

A house stood open--no soul was there--
Her dull, tired feet grew light on the stair;
She mounted--entered. One bed on the floor,
And Something in it: and close by the door,
Watching the stark form, stretched out still,
Ignorant knowing not good nor ill,
But only a want and a misery wild,
Crouched the dead mother's motherless child.

What next? Come say what would you have done
Dear children playing about in the sun,
Or sitting by pleasant fireside warm,
Hearing outside the howling storm?
The widow went in and she shut the door,
She stayed by the dead an hour or more--
And when she went home through the night so wild,
She had in her arms a sleeping child.

Now she is old and feeble and dull,
But her empty heart is happy and full
If her crust be hard and her cottage poor
There's a young foot tripping across the floor,
Young hands to help her that never tire,
And a young voice singing beside the fire;
And her tired eyes look as if they smiled,--
Childless mother and motherless child.

THE WREN'S NEST