Poems (Argent)/Deaf and Dumb
DEAF AND DUMB.
IN the far and distant country Where the willow-trees o'erspread,And in murmurs bend to whisper Messages of woe o'erhead; Gently swaying, Idly playing, Rolls the river o'er its bed.
In a cottage by the forest Lived a little child of seven,Golden were her ringlets, shining Brightly as the sun in heaven. Dreaming gaily, Almost daily; What had she to be forgiven?
You would look at her and wonder What her voice was, was it sweet?Were her accents soft and tender As the echo of her feet? Nought of riot Touched her quiet, She was always trim and neat.
Ever wandering in the forest, Silently like "one who grieves,"For this little one could never Hear the fluttering of the leaves. Dumb behold her! Yet enfold her Close beneath your household eaves.
Deaf her ears to earth's fair beauty, Deaf to all her matin song,Warbling tenderly around her, Breathing melody among The green meadows Lapped in shadows, Lying tranquil all day long.
Though she heard not she could see all, For the good God gave her sight:Sight that made the crimson sunset Burn with mystery more bright Than we mortals At heaven's portals Catch to fill our souls with light.
I have passed her in the woodlands Plucking flowers and weaving chainsOf the buttercups and daisies, That repaid her for her pains; Happy maiden, So love laden, May your losses turn to gains!
In the autumn fields of amber, Like a poppy 'mid the wheat, In her little scarlet jacket With a hood and all complete, I have wondered If she pondered On the harvest's promise sweet.
Oh! methinks those leafy covers Loved this little one right well,For she was so sweet and gentle, Purer than the lily bell; In the gloaming Ofttimes roaming, Like some spirit o'er the dell.
Lessons we might come and gather Learn from her content and peace,Sing her songs caught from the angels, Songs that falter not nor cease. Nought of sadness Mar our gladness, But with love each day increase.
Much you teach me, little maiden, And your smile is like a beamOf the sunshine that recalleth Many a long thought and dream. Breathing prayers All unawares, Twixt life's dark and fitful gleam.
Will she grow up, will she linger Still a child? or leave a smartIn the bosom of her mother If sad death should bid them part? God the holy, Christ the lowly, Shield thee wheresoe'er thou art!