Up spoke our own little Mabel Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" Again I looked at the snow-fall, I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar that renewed our woe. Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; 1849. 24 28 32 36 40 James Russell Lowell. A DEATH-BED HER suffering ended with the day, Yet lived she at its close, And breathed the long, long night away In a statue-like repose. 4 But when the sum in all his state Illumed: the eastern skies, She passed through Glory's morning gate 8 James Aldrich. c. 1840. MY SISTER'S SLEEP SHE fell asleep on Christmas Eve: The pain nought else might yet relieve. Our mother, who had leaned all day And as she sat her down, did pray. 8 Her little work-table was spread With work to finish. For the glare Made by her candle, she had care To work some distance from the bed. Without, there was a cold moon up, 12 16 Through the small room, with subtle sound I had been sitting up some nights, Twelve struck. That sound, by dwindling years Heard in each hour, crept off; and then Like water that a pebble stirs. Our mother rose from where she sat : 20 24 28 32 So, as said angels, she did say; Because we were in Christmas Day, Though it would still be long till morn. Just then in the room over us There was a pushing back of chairs, 36 40 66 With anxious softly-stepping haste She stooped an instant, calm, and turned; 44 And all her features seemed in pain With woe, and her eyes gazed and yearned. 48 For my part, I but hid my face, And held my breath, and spoke no word: The silence for a little space. Our mother bowed herself and wept: Then kneeling, upon Christmas morn We said, ere the first quarter struck, Christ's blessing on the newly born!" 1847. 1850. 52 56 60 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. THE MOTHER'S DREAM I'D a dream to-night As I fell asleep, Oh! the touching sight Makes me still to weep: |