And change my raiment, and go in
To the Lord's house, and leave my sin
Without, and seat me at his board,
Eat, and be glad, and praise the Lord.
For wherefore should I fast and weep,
And sullen moods of mourning keep?
I cannot bring him back, nor he,
For any calling come to me.
The bond the angel Death did sign,
God sealed- for Charlie's sake, and mine.
I'm very poor-this slender stone
Marks all the narrow field I own;
Yet, patient husbandman, I till
With faith and prayers, that precious hill,
Sow it with penitential pains,
And, hopeful, wait the latter rains;
Content if, after all, the spot
Yield barely one forget-me-not-
Whether or figs or thistles make
My crop, content for Charlie's sake.
I have no houses, builded well-
Only that little lonesome cell,
Where never romping playmates come,
Nor bashful sweethearts, cunning-dumb-
An April burst of girls and boys,
Their rainbowed cloud of glooms and joys
Born with their songs, gone with their toys;
Nor ever is its stillness stirred
By purr of cat, or chirp of bird,
Or mother's twilight legend, told
Of Horner's pie, or Tiddler's gold,
Or fairy hobbling to the door,
Red-cloaked and weird, banned and poor,
To bless the good child's gracious eyes,
The good child's wistful charities,
And crippled changeling's hunch to make
Dance on his crutch, for good child's sake.
How is it with the child? 'Tis well;
Nor would I any miracle
Might stir my sleeper's tranquil trance,
Or plague his painless countenance:
I would not any seer might place
His staff on my immortal's face,
Or lip to lip, and eye to eye,
Charm back his pale mortality.
No, Shunammite! I would not break
God's stillness. Let them weep who wake.
For Charlie's sake my lot is blest:
No comfort like his mother's breast,
No praise like her's; no charm expressed
In fairest forms hath half her zest.
For Charlie's sake this bird 's caressed
That death left lonely in the nest;
For Charlie's sake my heart is dressed,
As for its birthday, in its best;
For Charlie's sake we leave the rest
To Him who gave, and who did take,
And saved us twice, for Charlie's sake.
JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER,
HOME they brought her warrior dead; She nor swooned, nor uttered cry · All her maidens, watching, said,
"She must weep or she will die."
Then they praised him, soft and low, Called him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept Took a face-cloth from the face, Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her kneeLike summer tempest came her tears"Sweet my child, I live for thee."
THE RECONCILIATION.
As through the land at eve we went,
And plucked the ripened ears,
We fell out, my wife and I,-
Oh, we fell out, I know not why,
And kissed again with tears.
For when we came where lies the child
We lost in other years,
There above the little grave,
Oh, there above the little grave,
We kissed again with tears.