So tired; my friends are gone, And days are sad. Lord Jesus, Thou wilt bear my load So tired; my heart is low, Around me fall; And memories of sins long wept, And hopes denied, that long have slept, Arise and call. So tired; yet I would work For Thee! Lord, hast Thou work Small things which others, hurrying on So tired; yet I might reach A flower to cheer and teach Some sadder heart. Or for parched lips perhaps might bring One cup of water from the spring, Ere I depart. So tired; yet it were sweet Thy little ones whose steps are slow, So tired; Lord Thou wilt come Only Thy grace and mercy send, NLY a little dust ONLY So small that a rose might hide it; And I trust in God- —or I try to trust, When I kneel in the dark beside it. I kneel in the dark and say, I only dream that I weep; She would not leave me and go away - Fallen asleep, as oft She climbed to my heart to rest, Her white arms twining my neck, as soft Tenderly, unawares, Sleep came in the waning light, And kissed her there on the twilight stairs, And that she will wake I know, So I kneel in the dark and say, She would not leave me and go away - GRIEF fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. One Writes that Other Friends Remain NE writes, that "Other friends remain," ONE That "Loss is common to the race," And common is the commonplace, That loss is common would not make ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. S% The Little Watcher O tired looking out of the window, I wonder how long I've waited I needn't have stood and listened If only I'd heard them saying A word of his going away. For nobody thought to tell me, Though I missed and missed him so; I'm hungry to have him kiss me, He will come if his heart keeps aching For me as mine aches for him. I've waited so long to tell him That I've heard two robins sing: And I want to show him my snowdrops, And to ask if it is almost spring. "Hark! there's a step on the pavement Like his, but it passes by; I'll hide in the shade of the curtain, Where nobody sees, and cry." Ah, pitiful little weeper, Nursing your grief so dumb, You are but one of the watchers Whose darlings will never come! MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON. |