Yesterdays Part 14

'Twas just a slight flirtation, And where's the harm, I pray, In that amusing pastime So much in vogue to-day?

Her hand was plighted elsewhere To one she held most dear, But why should she sit lonely When other men were near?

They walked to church together, They sat upon the sh.o.r.e.

She found him entertaining, He found her something more.

They rambled in the moonlight; It made her look so fair.

She let him praise her beauty, And kiss her flowing hair.

'Twas just a nice flirtation.

'So sad the fellow died.

Was drowned one day while boating, The week she was a bride.'

A life went out in darkness, A mother's fond heart broke, A maiden pined in secret-- With grief she never spoke.

While robed in bridal whiteness, Queen of a festal throng, She moved, whose slight flirtation Had wrought this triple wrong.

WHAT THE RAIN SAW

Winds of the summer time what are you saying, What are ye seeking, and what do you miss?

Locks like the thistledown floating and straying, Cheeks like the budding rose, tinted to kiss.

See ye yon mist rising up from the river?

That is the spirit of yesterday's rain.

Go to it, fly to it, call to it, cry to it, What did ye see when ye fell on the plain?

Rosewood, and velvet, and pansies, and roses, Blossoms from loving hands tenderly cast.

Lids like the leaves of a lily that closes After its brief little day-life is past.

Beautiful hands on a beautiful bosom, Folded so quietly, folded in rest.

Mouth like the bud of a white-petalled blossom, Creased where the lips of an angel had pressed.

Lower, and lower, and lower, and lower, Dust unto dust--but a mound on the plain.

Left alone, lonely, this, and this only, Saw we, and see we to-day, said the rain.

Winds of the summer time vain is your seeking, Vain is your calling with sobs in your breath.

Lips that are tender, eyes full of splendour, Wooed away, sued away, vanished with death.

AFTER

After the end that is drawing near Comes, and I no more see your face Worn with suffering, lying here, What shall I do with the empty place?

You are so weary, that if I could I would not hinder, I would not keep The great Creator of all things good, From giving his own beloved sleep.

But over and over I turn this thought.

After they bear you away to the tomb, And banish the gla.s.ses, and move the cot, What shall I do with the empty room?

And when you are lying at rest, my own, Hidden away in the gra.s.s and flowers, And I listen in vain for your sigh and moan, What shall I do with the silent hours?

O G.o.d! O G.o.d! in the great To Be What canst Thou give me to compensate For the terrible silence, the vacancy, Grim, and awful, and desolate?

Pa.s.sing away, my beautiful one, Out of the old life into the new.

But when it is over, and all is done, G.o.d of the Merciful, what shall I do?

Sweetest of slumber, and soundest rest, No more sorrow, and no more gloom.

I am quite contented, and all is best,-- _But the empty bed--and the silent room_!

OUR PETTY CARES

Our petty cares wear on us so,-- More cruel than our great despairs, More rasping than a mighty woe, Our petty cares.

Less need of strength hath he who bears Courageously some stinging blow, Of Fate which takes him unawares.

Not solitary griefs we know Induce old age and whitening hairs; But that malicious, endless row-- Our petty cares.

THE s.h.i.+P AND THE BOAT

In the great s.h.i.+p Life we speed along, With sails and pennons spread.

And tethered, beside the great s.h.i.+p, glide The mystic boats for the dead.

Over the deck of the s.h.i.+p of Life Our loved and lost we lower.

And calm and steady, his small boat ready, Death silently sits at the oar.

He rows our dead away from our sight-- Away from our hearing or ken.

We call and cry for a last good-bye, But they never come back again.

The s.h.i.+p of Life bounds on and on; The river of Time runs fast; And yet more swift our dear dead drift For ever back into the Past.

We do not forget those loved and lost, But they fade away like a dream: As we hurry along on the current strong Of Time's great turbulent stream.

On and on, and ever away, Our sails are filled by the wind; We see new places, we meet new faces, And the dead are far behind.