160

BUILDING UPON THE SAND.

Then the sire of the maiden young and fair,
The girl of the wealth of golden hair,
He answers as ever do fathers cold,
To the question of duty trite and old :
"She who weddeth keeps God's letter;
She who weds not, doeth better."
Then meekly answered the maiden fair,
The girl with the wealth of golden hair,
"I will keep the sense of the Holy Letter,
Content to do WELL, without doing BETTER.”

BUILDING UPON THE SAND.

ELIZA COOK.

'Tis well to woo, 'tis well to wed,
For so the world has done
Since myrtles grew and roses blew,
And morning brought the sun.

But have a care, ye young and fair;
Be sure ye pledge with truth;
Be certain that your love will wear
Beyond the days of youth.

For if ye give not heart to heart,
As well as hand for hand,

You'll find you've played the "unwise part,"
And "built upon the sand."

BUILDING UPON THE SAND.

161

'Tis well to save, 'tis well to have
A goodly store of gold,

And hold enough of sterling stuff,
For charity is cold.

But place not all your hopes and trust
In what the deep mine brings;
We cannot live on yellow dust,
Unmixed with purer things.

And he who piles up wealth alone
Will often have to stand
Behind his coffer-chest, and own
'Tis built upon the sand."

'Tis good to speak in kindly guise,
And soothe whate'er we can;

For speech should bind the human mind,
And love link man to man.

But stay not at the gentle words;
Let deeds with language dwell;
The one who pities starving birds
Should scatter crumbs as well.

The mercy that is warm and true
Must lend a helping hand;
For those who talk, yet fail to do,
But "build upon the sand."

162

THE ANGELS IN THE HOUSE.

THE ANGELS IN THE HOUSE.

ANON.

THREE pairs of dimpled arms, as white as snow,
Held me in soft embrace;

Three little cheeks, like velvet peaches soft,
Were placed against my face.

Three pairs of tiny eyes, so clear, so deep,
Looked up in mine this even ;

Three pairs of lips kissed me a sweet “Good-night,”
Three little forms from Heaven.

Ah, it is well that "little ones

"should love us;

It lights our faith when dim,

To know that once our blesséd Saviour bade them Bring "little ones" to him.

And said he not, " Of such is Heaven," and blessed

them,

And held them to his breast?

Is it not sweet to know that, when they leave us, 'Tis then they go to rest?

And yet, ye tiny angels of my house,

Three hearts encased in mine,

How 'twould be shattered if the Lord should say, "Those angels are not thine!"

WOMAN'S FOUR SEASONS. 163

WOMAN'S FOUR SEASONS.

BAILEY.

OUR life is comely as a whole; nay, more,
Like rich brown ringlets, with odd hairs all gold,
We women have four seasons, like the year;
Our spring is in our lightsome, girlish days,
When the heart laughs within us for sheer joy,
Ere yet we know what love is, or the ill

Of being loved by those whom we love not.
Our summer is when we love and are beloved,
And seems short; from its very splendor seems
To pass the quickest; crowned with flowers it flies.
Autumn, when some young thing with tiny hands,
And rosy cheeks, and flossy-tendrilled locks,
Is wantoning about us day and night.

And winter is when those we love have perished;
For the heart ices then. And the next spring
Is in another world, if one there be.

Some miss one season, some another; this
Shall have them early, and that late; and yet
The year wears round with all as best it may;
There is no rule for it; but in the man

It is as I have said.

164

MAUD MULLER.

MAUD MULLER.

WHITTIER.

MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadows sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast

A wish, that she had hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup,