The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman Part 6

Little Fan

When little f.a.n.n.y came to town, I felt as I could sing!

She were the sprackest little maid, the sharpest, pertest thing.

Her mother were as proud as punch, and as for I--well, there!

I never see sich gert blue eyes, I never see sich hair!

"If all the weans in Somerset," says I, "was standin' here, Not one could hold a candle light, 'long- side our little dear."

Now f.a.n.n.y'S little Fan have come! She's clingin' round my knees, She's asking me for sups of tea, and bites of bread and cheese.

She's climbing into grandma's bed, she's stroking grandma's face.

She's tore my paper into bits and strawed it round the place.

"If all the weans in all the world," says I, "was standin' here, Not one could hold a farthin' dip to f.a.n.n.y's little dear!"

For f.a.n.n.y's little f.a.n.n.y--oh, she's took the heart of me!

'Tis childern's childern is the CROWN of humble folk like we!

The Naughty Day

I've had a naughty day to-day.

I scrunched a biscuit in my hair, And dipped my feeder in the milk, And spread my rusk upon a chair.

When mother put me in my bath, I tossed the water all about, And popped the soap upon my head, And threw the sponge and flannel out.

I wouldn't let her put my hand Inside the arm-hole of my vest; I held the sleeve until she said I really never SHOULD be dressed.

And while she made the beds, I found Her tidy, and took out the hairs; And then I got the water-can And tipped it headlong down the stairs.

I crawled along the kitchen floor, And got some coal out of the box, And drew black pictures on the walls, And wiped my fingers on my socks.

Oh, this HAS been a naughty day!

That's why they've put me off to bed.

"He CAN'T get into mischief there, Perhaps we'll have some peace," they said.

They put the net across my cot, Or else downstairs again I'd creep.

But, see, I'll suck the counterpane To PULP before I go to sleep!

To a Little White Bird

Into the world you came, and I was dumb, Because "G.o.d did it," so the wise ones said; I wonder sometimes "Did you really come?"

And "Are you truly . . . DEAD?"

Thus you went out--alone and uncaressed; O sweet, soft thing, in all your infant grace, I never held you in my arms, nor pressed Warm kisses on your face!

But, in the Garden of the Undefiled, My soul will claim you . . . you, and not another; I shall hold out my arms, and say "MY CHILD!"

And you will call me "MOTHER!"

Because

(PSALM CXVI.)

Because He heard my voice, and answered me, Because He listened, ah, so patiently, In those dark days, when sorrowful, alone, I knelt with tears, and prayed Him for a stone; Because He said me "Nay," and then in- stead, Oh, wonderful sweet truth! He gave me bread, Set my heart singing all in sweet accord; Because of this, I love--I love the Lord!

When He Comes

"When He comes!

My sweetest 'When'!"

C. ROSSETTI.

Thus may it be (I thought) at some day's close, Some lilac-haunted eve, when every rose Breathes forth its incense. May He find me there, In holy leisure, lifting hands of prayer, In some sweet garden place, To catch the first dear wonder of His Face!

Or, in my room above, In silent meditation of His love, My soul illumined with a rapture rare.

It would be sweet, if even then, these eyes Might glimpse Him coming in the East- ern skies, And be caught up to meet Him in the air.

But now! Ah, now, the days Rush by their hurrying ways!

No longer know I vague imaginings, For every hour has wings.

Yet my heart watches . . . as I work I say, All simply, to Him: "Come! And if to-day, Then wilt Thou find me thus: just as I am-- Tending my household; stirring goose- berry jam; Or swiftly rinsing tiny vests and hose, With puzzled forehead patching some one's clothes; Guiding small footsteps, swift to hear, and run, From early dawn till setting of the sun."

And whensoe'er He comes, I'll rise and go, Yes, all the gladlier that He found me so.

PART II. OUT OF DOORS

Early Spring

Quick through the gates of Fairyland The South Wind forced his way.

'Twas his to make the Earth forget Her grief of yesterday.

"'Tis mine," cried he, "to bring her joy!"

And on his lightsome feet In haste he slung the snowdrop bells, Pushed past the Fairy sentinels, And out with laughter sweet.