Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Part 7

All waiting stood the chamberlains To hear the Queen's reply.

They saw her cheek grow deathly pale, But light flash'd to her eye:

"Go, tell the King," she proudly said, "That I am Persia's Queen, And by his crowds of merry men I never will be seen.

"I'll take the crown from off my head And tread it 'neath my feet, Before their rude and careless gaze My shrinking eyes shall meet.

"A queen unveil'd before the crowd!-- Upon each lip my name!-- Why, Persia's women all would blush And weep for Vashti's shame!

"Go back!" she cried, and waved her hand, And grief was in her eye: "Go, tell the King," she sadly said, "That I would rather die."

46 VASHTI.

They brought her message to the King; Dark flash'd his angry eye; 'Twas as the lightning ere the storm Hath swept in fury by.

Then bitterly outspoke the King, Through purple lips of wrath-- "What shall be done to her who dares To cross your monarch's path?"

Then spake his wily counsellors-- "O King of this fair land!

From distant Ind to Ethiop, All bow to thy command.

"But if, before thy servants' eyes, This thing they plainly see, That Vashti doth not heed thy will Nor yield herself to thee,

"The women, restive 'neath our rule, Would learn to scorn our name, And from her deed to us would come Reproach and burning shame.

"Then, gracious King, sign with thy hand This stern but just decree,

THANK G.o.d FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 47

That Vashti lay aside her crown, Thy Queen no more to be."

She heard again the King's command, And left her high estate; Strong in her earnest womanhood, She calmly met her fate,

And left the palace of the King, Proud of her spotless name-- A woman who could bend to grief, But would not bow to shame.

THANK G.o.d FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.

Thank G.o.d for little children, Bright flowers by earth's wayside, The dancing, joyous lifeboats Upon life's stormy tide.

Thank G.o.d for little children; When our skies are cold and gray, They come as suns.h.i.+ne to our hearts, And charm our cares away.

48 THANK G.o.d FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.

I almost think the angels, Who tend life's garden fair, Drop down the sweet wild blossoms That bloom around us here.

It seems a breath of heaven Round many a cradle lies, And every little baby Brings a message from the skies.

Dear mothers, guard these jewels.

As sacred offerings meet, A wealth of household treasures To lay at Jesus' feet.

THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA.

"Tim Thompson, a little negro boy, was asked to dance for the amus.e.m.e.nt of some white toughs. He refused, saying he was a church member. One of the men knocked him down with a club and then danced upon his prostrate form. He then shot the boy in the hip. The boy is dead; his murderer is still at large."--News Item.

He lifted up his pleading eyes, And scanned each cruel face, Where cold and brutal cowardice Had left its evil trace.

It was when tender memories Round Beth'lem's manger lay,

(49)

50 THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA.

And mothers told their little ones Of Jesu's natal day.

And of the Magi from the East Who came their gifts to bring, And bow in rev'rence at the feet Of Salem's new-born King.

And how the herald angels sang The choral song of peace, That war should close his wrathful lips, And strife and carnage cease.

At such an hour men well may hush Their discord and their strife, And o'er that manger clasp their hands With gifts to brighten life.

Alas! that in our favored land, That cruelty and crime Should cast their shadows o'er a day.

The fairest pearl of time.

A dark-browed boy had drawn anear A band of savage men, Just as a hapless lamb might stray Into a tiger's den.

THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA. 51

Cruel and dull, they saw in him For sport an evil chance, And then demanded of the child To give to them a dance.

"Come dance for us," the rough men said; "I can't," the child replied, "I cannot for the dear Lord's sake, Who for my sins once died."

Tho' they were strong and he was weak, He wouldn't his Lord deny.

His life lay in their cruel hands, But he for Christ could die.

Heard they aright? Did that brave child Their mandates dare resist?

Did he against their stern commands Have courage to insist?

Then recklessly a man (?) arose, And dealt a fearful blow.

He crushed the portals of that life, And laid the brave child low.

And trampled on his prostrate form, As on a broken toy;