Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 39

The fit that had come upon me, like a hideous nightmare seemed, Till I rubbed my eyes and started like a sleeper who has dreamed.

For a time the box had vanished--I'd worked like a mere machine-- My mind had been on the wander, and I'd neither heard nor seen, With a start I thought of Johnny, and I turned the boy to seek, Then I uttered a groan of anguish, for my lips refused to speak; There had flashed such a scene of horror swift on my startled sight That it curdled my blood in terror and sent my red lips white.

It was all in one awful moment--I saw that the boy was lost: He had gone for a toy, I fancied, some child from a train had tossed; The local was easing slowly to stop at the station here, And the limited mail was coming, and I had the line to clear.

I could hear the roar of the engine, I could almost feel its breath, And right on the center metals stood my boy in the jaws of death; On came the fierce fiend, tearing straight for the center line, And the hand that must wreck or save it, O merciful G.o.d, was mine!

'Twas a hundred lives or Johnny's. O Heaven! what could I do?-- Up to G.o.d's ear that moment a wild, fierce question flew-- "What shall I do, O Heaven?" and sudden and loud and clear On the wind came the words, "Your duty," borne to my listening ear.

Then I set my teeth, and my breathing was fierce and short and quick.

"My boy!" I cried, but he heard not; and then I went blind and sick; The hot black smoke of the engine came with a rush before, I turned the mail to the center, and by it flew with a roar.

Then I sank on my knees in horror, and hid my ashen face-- I had given my child to Heaven; his life was a hundred's grace.

Had I held my hand a moment, I had hurled the flying mail To shatter the creeping local that stood on the other rail!

Where is my boy, my darling? O G.o.d! let me hide my eyes.

How can I look--his father--on that which there mangled lies?

That voice!--O merciful Heaven!--'tis the child's, and he calls my name!

I hear, but I cannot see him, for my eyes are filled with flame.

I knew no more that night, sir, for I fell, as I heard the boy; The place reeled round, and I fainted,--swooned with the sudden joy.

But I heard on the Christmas morning, when I woke in my own warm bed With Alice's arms around me, and a strange wild dream in my head, That she'd come by the early local, being anxious about the lad, And had seen him there on the metals, and the sight nigh drove her mad-- She had seen him just as the engine of the Limited closed my view, And she leapt on the line and saved him just as the mail dashed through.

She was back in the train in a second, and both were safe and sound; The moment they stopped at the station she ran here, and I was found With my eyes like a madman's glaring, and my face a ghastly white: I heard the boy, and I fainted, and I hadn't my wits that night.

Who told me to do my duty? What voice was that on the wind?

Was it fancy that brought it to me? or were there G.o.d's lips behind?

If I hadn't 'a' done my duty--had I ventured to disobey-- My bonny boy and his mother might have died by my hand that day.

_George R. Sims._

Hark, Hark! the Lark

_(From "Cymbeline")_

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise!

Arise, arise!

_William Shakespeare._

Tommy's Prayer

In a dark and dismal alley where the suns.h.i.+ne never came, Dwelt a little lad named Tommy, sickly, delicate, and lame; He had never yet been healthy, but had lain since he was born Dragging out his weak existence well nigh hopeless and forlorn.

He was six, was little Tommy, 'twas just five years ago Since his drunken mother dropped him, and the babe was crippled so.

He had never known the comfort of a mother's tender care, But her cruel blows and curses made his pain still worse to bear.

There he lay within the cellar, from the morning till the night, Starved, neglected, cursed, ill-treated, nought to make his dull life bright; Not a single friend to love him, not a loving thing to love-- For he knew not of a Saviour, or a heaven up above.

'Twas a quiet, summer evening, and the alley, too, was still; Tommy's little heart was sinking, and he felt so lonely, till, Floating up the quiet alley, wafted inwards from the street, Came the sound of some one singing, sounding, oh! so clear and sweet.

Eagerly did Tommy listen as the singing came-- Oh! that he could see the singer! How he wished he wasn't lame.

Then he called and shouted loudly, till the singer heard the sound, And on noting whence it issued, soon the little cripple found.

'Twas a maiden rough and rugged, hair unkempt, and naked feet, All her garments torn and ragged, her appearance far from neat; "So yer called me," said the maiden, "wonder wot yer wants o' me; Most folks call me Singing Jessie; wot may your name chance to be?"

"My name's Tommy; I'm a cripple, and I want to hear you sing, For it makes me feel so happy--sing me something, anything,"

Jessie laughed, and answered smiling, "I can't stay here very long, But I'll sing a hymn to please you, wot I calls the 'Glory Song.'"

Then she sang to him of heaven, pearly gates, and streets of gold, Where the happy angel children are not starved or nipped with cold; But where happiness and gladness never can decrease or end, And where kind and loving Jesus is their Sovereign and their Friend.

Oh! how Tommy's eyes did glisten as he drank in every word As it fell from "Singing Jessie"--was it true, what he had heard?

And so anxiously he asked her, "Is there really such a place?"

And a tear began to trickle down his pallid little face.

"Tommy, you're a little heathen; why, it's up beyond the sky, And if yer will love the Saviour, yer shall go there when yer die."

"Then," said Tommy, "tell me, Jessie, how can I the Saviour love, When I'm down in this 'ere cellar, and He's up in heaven above?"

So the little ragged maiden who had heard at Sunday School All about the way to heaven, and the Christian's golden rule, Taught the little cripple Tommy how to love, and how to pray, Then she sang a "Song of Jesus," kissed his cheek and went away.

Tommy lay within the cellar which had grown so dark and cold, Thinking all about the children in the streets of s.h.i.+ning gold; And he heeded not the darkness of that damp and chilly room, For the joy in Tommy's bosom could disperse the deepest gloom.

"Oh! if I could only see it," thought the cripple, as he lay, "Jessie said that Jesus listens and I think I'll try and pray"; So he put his hands together, and he closed his little eyes, And in accents weak, yet earnest, sent this message to the skies:--

"Gentle Jesus, please forgive me as I didn't know afore, That yer cared for little cripples who is weak and very poor, And I never heard of heaven till that Jessie came to-day And told me all about it, so I wants to try and pray.

"Yer can see me, can't yer, Jesus? Jessie told me that yer could, And I somehow must believe it, for it seems so prime and good; And she told me if I loved you, I should see yer when I die, In the bright and happy heaven that is up beyond the sky.

"Lord, I'm only just a cripple, and I'm no use here below, For I heard my mother whisper, she'd be glad if I could go; And I'm cold and hungry sometimes; and I feel so lonely, too, Can't yer take me, gentle Jesus, up to heaven along o' you?

"Oh! I'd be so good and patient, and I'd never cry or fret, And your kindness to me, Jesus, I would surely not forget; I would love you all I know of, and would never make a noise-- Can't you find me just a corner, where I'll watch the other boys?

"Oh! I think yer'll do it, Jesus, something seems to tell me so, For I feel so glad and happy, and I do so want to go, How I long to see yer, Jesus, and the children all so bright!

Come and fetch me, won't yer, Jesus? Come and fetch me home tonight!"

Tommy ceased his supplication, he had told his soul's desire, And he waited for the answer till his head began to tire; Then he turned towards his corner and lay huddled in a heap, Closed his little eyes so gently, and was quickly fast asleep.

Oh, I wish that every scoffer could have seen his little face As he lay there in the corner, in that damp, and noisome place; For his countenance was s.h.i.+ning like an angel's, fair and bright, And it seemed to fill the cellar with a holy, heavenly light.

He had only heard of Jesus from a ragged singing girl, He might well have wondered, pondered, till his brain began to whirl; But he took it as she told it, and believed it then and there, Simply trusting in the Saviour, and his kind and tender care.

In the morning, when the mother came to wake her crippled boy, She discovered that his features wore a look of sweetest joy, And she shook him somewhat roughly, but the cripple's face was cold-- He had gone to join the children in the streets of s.h.i.+ning gold.

Tommy's prayer had soon been answered, and the Angel Death had come To remove him from his cellar, to his bright and heavenly home Where sweet comfort, joy, and gladness never can decrease or end, And where Jesus reigns eternally, his Sovereign and his Friend.