Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 128.djvu/268

MORNING MUSINGS.

I. — MY HEART

My heart is like a fairy land,
With flowers and garlands gay;
My heart is like a meadow plain,
Whereon a child may play.

My heart is like a silver brook
That lightly babbles by;
And sometimes like a dreamy lake
Beneath a heavy sky.

And sometimes like a stormy sea,
With waves that rise at will,
Till o’er the water breathes a voice,
And then the waves are still.

My heart is like a roomy house,
With widely opened door —
One day the gates will shut, and then
Comes peace forevermore.

II. — GOD'S LILIES

God’s lilies droop about the world,
In sweetness everywhere;
They are the maiden-souls who learn
To comfort, and to bear
And to smile upon the heavy cross
That every one must wear.

O lilies, beautiful and meek!
They know God’s will is right,
And so they raise their patient heads
In dark and stormy night,
And far above the eastern hills
They see the dawn of light.

They know that when their day is done,
And deep the shadow lies,
The cross will weary them no more;
So lightly they arise
To meet the angels when they call
"Lilies of Paradise!"

III. — PATIENCE

"Tout vient à qui sait attendre."

Only be patient, all will come
To one who knoweth how to wait;
The wished-for, love-desired home —
Ah yes, it cometh soon or late.

Ah yes, it cometh; see the star
Of hope in darkest clouds arise:
Ah yes, it cometh; see from far
The dawning red in eastern skies.

O my beloved, we shall see,
When all the weary years are o’er,
How very sweet the days will be,
For you and me, forevermore.

A. C. C.

Sunday Magazine.

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COME NEAR TO ME.

The way is long! Come near to me;
I cannot live afar from Thee,
Nor journey to my home above,
Unless Thou aid me with Thy love.

So many errors clog my soul —
So many evils round me roll:
I faint with all the weary strife —
Come near me, Lord, for Thou art life.

The thorns seem thicker than the bloom,
Edging the pathway to the tomb:
They pierce — and whither shall I flee,
Except, dear Lord, I flee to Thee?

Come near at morning, noon, and night;
Be Thy sweet presence my delight;
Thy gracious comfort freely give,
That I may look to Thee and live.

And, oh at last when I shall feel
The damps of death upon me steal,
Disclose to my dim, fading eyes,
The opening gate of Paradise.

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THE CYNIC'S CAROL

Christmas comes but once a year;
Happy that twice it cometh not:
For sirloin is uncommon dear,
And dear the pudding in the pot;
And floods are out, and rooms are chill,
And every morning brings a bill.

That plant yclept the mistletoe
To me by no means pleasant is:
My daughters underneath it go
To meet a detrimental kiss,
From one who nothing hath a year,
And liveth in a street called Queer.

My parson preacheth straight at me,
My wine-merchant sends claret sour,
My stocks are down to thirty-three,
My stockbroker won’t wait an hour;
My boys, escaped scholastic swish,
Take from the larder what they wish.

Well, life has consolations still:
Locked in my study, far away
From riots that my household fill,
I pass a calm, if cheerless day —
Thankful, as bed-time draweth near,
That Christmas comes but once a year.

Punch