Poems (Curwen)/Eva

by Annie Isabel Curwen

Eva.

A dear little face, so sweet and fair,
Framed in a mass of soft, dark hair;
Two brown eyes, so roguish and bright,
Peeping beneath a sun-bonnet white;
Two dimpled hands that love to press
Her mother's neck in fond caress;
Two little feet—of late they've grown
To bear the toddler safe, alone—
Oh, the patter of these little feet
To her mother's heart is music sweet!

I cull'd white roses to form a wreath,
And bore it to the shrine of death,
Where a childless mother, sorrow-bowed,
Wept by a little flower-strewn shroud:
And again I saw that face so fair,
Framed in its setting of soft, dark hair,
But the sweet brown eyes had lost their light,
And were veiled beneath their lids of white:
For the soul of Eva had pass'd away,
And all that remained was coffin'd clay!

The dear little feet have "crossed the river,"
The fair little soul returned to its Giver;
And Eva looks with her beautiful eyes
On the lovely gardens of Paradise;
And bears, in her dimpled hands, the flowers
Angels have cull'd from the Heavenly bowers;
And listens, wonderingly, to the song
Of glorious seraphs who round her throng;
And perchance the soul of her brother found
Amid the cherubs who flock around.

Silence reigns by the lonely hearth
That has lost the sweetest joy of earth;
And two sad hearts are bursting with grief
For theirs is a sorrow without relief,
For Nature, rebellious, turns from God,
And shrinks from kissing the cruel rod.
Smile! cherub faces, from out the gloom;
Point! baby fingers, beyond the tomb;
Beckon! O dear little hands, from above.
Whisper! sweet voices that God is Love—
"Our God is Love!"