Part 38

And I had another sister, With cheeks all bright with bloom; And another morn I missed her -- She had gone to wreathe a tomb.

And they told me they had withered, On the bride's brow and the grave; Half an hour, and all their fragrance Died away, which heaven gave.

Two sweet-faced girls came walking Thro' my lonely home one day, And I overheard them talking Of an altar on their way.

They were culling flowers around me, And I said a little prayer To go with them -- and they found me -- And upon an altar fair,

Where the Eucharist was lying On its mystical death-bed, I felt myself a-dying, While the Mass was being said.

But I lived a little longer, And I prayed there all the day, Till the evening Benediction, When my poor life passed away.

Singing-Bird

In the valley of my life Sings a "Singing-Bird", And its voice thro' calm and strife Is sweetly heard.

In the day and thro' the night Sound the notes, And its song thro' dark and bright Ever floats.

Other warblers cease to sing, And their voices rest, And they fold their weary wing In their quiet nest.

But my Singing-Bird still sings Without a cease; And each song it murmurs brings My spirit peace.

"Singing-Bird!" O "Singing-Bird!" No one knows, When your holy songs are heard, What repose

Fills my life and soothes my heart; But I fear The day -- thy songs, if we must part, I'll never hear.

But "Singing-Bird!" ah! "Singing-Bird!" Should this e'er be, The dreams of all thy songs I heard Shall sing for me.

Now

Sometimes a single hour Rings thro' a long life-time, As from a temple tower There often falls a chime From blessed bells, that seems To fold in Heaven's dreams Our spirits round a shrine; Hath such an hour been thine?

Sometimes -- who knoweth why? One minute holds a power That shadows every hour, Dialed in life's sky. A cloud that is a speck When seen from far away May be a storm, and wreck The joys of every day.

Sometimes -- it seems not much, 'Tis scarcely felt at all -- Grace gives a gentle touch To hearts for once and all, Which in the spirit's strife May all unnoticed be. And yet it rules a life; Hath this e'er come to thee?

Sometimes one little word, Whispered sweet and fleet, That scarcely can be heard, Our ears will sudden meet. And all life's hours along That whisper may vibrate, And, like a wizard's song, Decide our ev'ry fate.

Sometimes a sudden look, That falleth from some face, Will steal into each nook Of life, and leave its trace; To haunt us to the last, And sway our ev'ry will Thro' all the days to be, For goodness or for ill; Hath this e'er come to thee?

Sometimes one minute folds The hearts of all the years, Just like the heart that holds The Infinite in tears; There be such thing as this -- Who knoweth why, or how? A life of woe or bliss Hangs on some little Now.

M * * *

When I am dead, and all will soon forget My words, and face, and ways -- I, somehow, think I'll walk beside thee yet Adown thy after days.

I die first, and you will see my grave; But child! you must not cry; For my dead hand will brightest blessings wave O'er you from yonder sky.

You must not weep; I believe I'd hear your tears Tho' sleeping in a tomb: My rest would not be rest, if in your years There floated clouds of gloom.

For -- from the first -- your soul was dear to mine, And dearer it became, Until my soul, in every prayer, would twine Thy name -- my child! thy name.

You came to me in girlhood pure and fair, And in your soul -- and face -- I saw a likeness to another there In every trace and grace.

You came to me in girlhood -- and you brought An image back to me; No matter what -- or whose -- I often sought Another's soul in thee.