By the Sea, and Other Verses. Baily Hannah Lavinia

my heart a solemn query:

      Is my day's work done?

      Do I make of this my life-task

      Prose or idle rhyme?

      Do I in the sight of Heaven

      Finish out the line?

      Oh, it is "too fine a knowledge"

      For our mortal sight,

      All these restless little creatures

      How to lead aright.

      He who prayeth while he worketh,

      Taking lessons still

      Of the Friend of little children,

      Learning all His will;

      He alone can walk before them

      Worthily and well;

      He alone of life's strange language

      Can the meaning tell.

      May I then with heart as tender

      As a little child

      Lead my flock; and Father, keep them

      Pure and undefiled.

      PEACE

      O blessed peace, that floweth like a river,

      Unstayed, unwearied, ever on and on;

      That hath its fount and spring in Christ the giver,

      And finds its ocean round the great white Throne.

      O peace of God, that passeth understanding,

      Thou art the answer to my soul's long quest;

      Doubts, fears and sins, their serried hosts disbanding,

      I leave, launch on thy wave, and anchored, rest.

      BOYS AND GIRLS

      We were "seven in all," as the dear rustic maid

      To the poet so sweetly protested;

      And together we rambled and studied and played,

      Each imbibing a share of the sunshine and shade

      Wherewith our young life was invested.

      And black eyes and blue eyes and brown eyes and gray

      Looked up to the face of our mother,

      As she led us in study in labor or play,

      Or told of "Our Father," and taught us to pray,

      And to cherish and love one another.

      O, the rapture of being when life is a-tune

      With the song-life and beauty of morning;

      When the roseate dawn brightens into the noon,

      And the year hastens on to the splendor of June,

      In her fragrance and matchless adorning.

      So our years flitted by and the youngest of all —

      Our dark-eyed and fun-loving brother —

      Was grown to be manly and lithesome and tall,

      And to couteous titles we answered the call,

      But were still "boys" and "girls" to each other.

      O, the joy of endeavor, endurance and toil

      On thro' summer-time vigor and sweetness,

      Of triumph o'er that which would hinder or foil,

      Of the patience of hope after tears and turmoil,

      In the glory of autumn's completeness.

      And the toil and the turmoil and tears have been ours —

      From our ranks we have missed a loved brother

      We've encountered the thorns, but we've cherished the flowers;

      We've passed under the clouds on to sunnier hours,

      And we're still "boys" and "girls" to each other.

      A SMILE

      The gliding of a fairy form

      And rosy lips that knew no guile,

      With wonder parted, came to ask,

      "Papa, what is a smile?"

      A smile, whate'er it is, then stole

      That gentle parent's features o'er;

      For ne'er to him had been proposed

      Query so strange before.

      But while he pondered in his heart

      How he should to his child reply,

      A new, triumphant joy lit up

      Her loving, lustrous eye; —

      And with this gladsome, new-found thought,

      She answered in her own behalf:

      "Oh, now, I know; a smile must be

      The whisper to a laugh!"

      "A SPARROW ALONE ON THE HOUSETOP"

      Sing, little sparrow, sing thy song.

      No peril neareth thee;

      Tho night be dark or day be long,

      Or clouds hang low, sing on, sing on,

      The dear God heareth thee.

      Sing, little bird, whate'er befall —

      Trill out thine utmost need;

      Thou canst not soar, thou canst not fall

      But He will note who knoweth all,

      And He thy plaint will heed.

      O little sparrow, far and high

      Thy soft notes God-ward go,

      And I with thee send up my cry,

      And both shall somewhere find reply,

      God careth for us so.

      TO MOTHER

      O mother, from thy home beyond the stars

      Hast thou not known the yearning of thy child

      For thy sweet love? Hast thou not heard her wild

      And piteous moaning for thy soft caress?

      Felt her heart's aching for the tenderness

      And the low patience of thy loving voice?

      Hast thou not seen her 'mid life's toils and jars,

      Pant as a bird behind its prison bars,