Debris Part 11

No loving hand e'er brightened Her life with tender care, No mother's baby-kisses Were ever hers to share.

Only for others caring, The long, long years have fled; Now, only, they say,--the neighbors-- "Poor old Aunt Lucy's dead."

And they whisper a girl's ambition, A name in the world to make; 'Way back in her vanished youth-time, Gave up for a duty's sake.

But whatever had been the story Of love, or grief, or woe, It died with the heart, and no one Will ever care or know.

The hands were hard and toil-stained, And sallow the cheeks and chin, But whiter not the snow-wreath Than the soul that dwelt within.

And methinks a crown resplendent-- Just over the waveless sea-- With gems of self-denial, Awaits for such as she.

UNSPOKEN WORDS.

Unspoken words may thrill the heart, Their meaning be more deeply felt Than all the glowing oratory Poured at the shrine where reason knelt.

The fairest pictures art conceives, The n.o.blest sentiments of mind, The loveliest, purest gems of thought Are those which never are defined.

The hand that paints the rainbow dyes Ne'er leaves a trace its skill to show-- The art that gilds the sunset skies And tints the flower, we may not know.

Nor may we know the wizard power Which o'er our being wields control, Nor how, when silence seals the lips, Heart speaks to heart and soul to soul.

We do not know from whence the life Imbued in crystal drop of rain, Nor why, when torn and trampled on, The rose's fragrance will remain.

Nor know we why the tender tone Will linger when love's dream is fled, Now why the smile we loved will live, Although the face it wreathed will be dead.

Some strangely fascinating spell Steals o'er the heart in ethic's hour; We know not what, nor how, nor why, Still must we own we feel its power-- A power that wakens slumbering dreams, Intangible emotion swells, That penetrates the soul's deep fount, And greets the tide that from it wells.

It is not charm of form or face, Nor is it long contact of years That wins this mutual soul response, This spirit sympathy endears.

A theory by time engraved Fro life, one mad impulse may sweep-- A glance may into being start Vain hopes that nevermore may sleep.

The quiet touch when hands are clasped Would seemingly no sense impart, Yet may it wake a deathless theme And send it quivering to the heart.

And thus may kindred spirits feel, Though tone of voice be never heard, The sweet impa.s.sioned eloquence, The magic of unspoken words.

O! TAKE AWAY YOUR FLOWERS.

O! take your pale camellias back; Their soft leaves, waxen white And odorless, too ill accord With my dark mood to-night.

I do not want your hot-house flowers, They're like the love you give-- A something tame and pa.s.sionless That breaths but does not live.

You take my hand as though you feared Your clasp were over-bold, Your kiss falls light at flake of snow, And just as calm and cold.

I'd rather have your hatred Than this lifeless loving claim, If your heart beat one throb faster At mention of my name.

Leave me, and bind those soulless leaves A calmer brow above; I cannot wear your flowers to-night-- I do not want your love.

RAIN.

Drop! drop! drop!

With a ceaseless patter fall, With a sobbing sound on the sodden ground, And the gray clouds over all.

Dost weep of the parted summer, O, spirit of the rain?

For the vanished hours and the faded flowers That never can come again?

The farmer smiles at they weeping, Hus.h.i.+ng the whispering leaves, And dreams of days in the Autumn haze And the gathered golden sheaves.

There's a voice of hope, a promise, In the sound of thy refrain, And as bright the hours and as fair the flowers That will come to thee again.

And yet in our lives, though knowing That we hold a scepter's sway, How oft we turn with the thoughts that burn, To weep on Autumn day.

Turn from the hopeful future To weep in grief and pain, For the vanished hours and the faded flowers That never can come again.

I LOVE HIM FOR HIS EYES.

They praised the baby's dimpled hands, His brow so broad and fair, They kiss the dainty rose-bud mouth, Caress the sunny hair.

His lisping words, his tottling steps, His smiles they praise and prize, They love him for his cunning ways, I love him for his eyes.

The wealth of golden tinted curls Old Time will streak with snow; The rose-bud mouth so dainty curved To sterner lines will grow.

The fleeting years will mark with change Each feature now they prize, Save only the sweet eyes I love-- I love him for his eyes.

Those wondrous, wondrous soulful eyes, How strange the spell they fling Unconsciously around my heart; What memories they bring!

What buried hours come thronging back-- A distant, dearer clime-- Another pair of love-lit eyes, Another summer time.

Oh, baby, take your eyes away: They burn into my heart!

I'll kiss you once, and say good-by, And hid the tears that start; But through the years to come and go, The changeful scenes to rise, I'll love the little baby boy-- I love him for his eyes.

ONLY.

Only a sentence earnest spoke, With never a thought to word it, Fell like balm from the sea of calm, On the aching heart that heard it.

Only a glance, a scornful smile, A wavering purpose altered, Goaded a hand the crime to do At which before it faltered.

Only a kiss, a love caress, Tender and trustful given, Banished a cloud from brow of care, Made home a woman's Heaven.

Only a secret, chance disclosed, Whence secret should be never, A doubt crept into the heart that loved And its light went out forever.

Only a prayer, a wrong confessed, By suppliant lowly kneeling, Opened the gate where the angels wait, Life's Eden field revealing.