The Haunted Hour | Page 9

valiant men all to loose or bind,?But Mary seeks the little souls that are so hard to find.
All the little sighing souls born of dust's despair,?They who fed on bitter bread when the world was bare,?Frighted of the glory gates and the starry stair.
All about the windy down, housing in the ling,?Underneath the alder-bough linnet-light they cling,?Frighted of the shining house where the martyrs sing.
Crying in the ivy-bloom, fingering at the pane,?Grieving in the hollow dark, lone along the lane,?Mary, Mary Shepherdess gathers them again.
And O the wandering women know, in workhouse and in shed,?They dream on Mary Shepherdess with doves about her head,?And pleasant posies in her hand, and sorrow comforted.
Saying: there's my little lass, faring fine and free,?There's the little lad I laid by the holly tree,?Dreaming: There's my nameless bairn laughing at her knee.
When the bracken-harvest's gathered and the frost is on the loam When the dream goes out in silence and the ebb runs out in foam, Mary, Mary Shepherdess, she leads the lost lambs home.
If I had a little maid to turn my tears away,?If I had a little lad to lead me when I'm gray,?All to Mary Shepherdess they'd fold their hands and pray.
THE LITTLE GHOST: KATHERINE TYNAN
The stars began to peep?Gone was the bitter day,?She heard the milky ewes?Bleat to their lambs astray.?Her heart cried for her lamb?Lapped cold in the churchyard sod,?She could not think on the happy children?At play with the Lamb of God.
She heard the calling ewes?And the lambs answer alas!?She heard her heart's blood drip in the night,?As the ewes' milk on the grass.?Her tears that burnt like fire?So bitter and slow ran down?She could not think on the new-washed children?Playing by Mary's gown.
Oh, who is this comes in?Over her threshold stone??And why is the old dog wild with joy?Who all day long made moan??This fair little radiant ghost,?Her one little son of seven,?New 'scaped from the band of merry children?In the nurseries of Heaven.
He was all clad in white?Without a speck or stain;?His curls had a ring of light,?That rose and fell again.?"Now come with me, my own mother,?And you shall have great ease,?For you shall see the lost children?Gathered at Mary's knees."
Oh, lightly sprang she up?Nor waked her sleeping man,?And hand in hand with the little ghost?Through the dark night she ran.?She is gone swift as a fawn,?As a bird homes to its nest,?She has seen them lie, the sleepy children,?'Twixt Mary's arm and breast.
At morning she came back;?Her eyes were strange to see.?She will not fear the long journey,?However long it be.?As she goes in and out?She sings unto hersel';?For she has seen the mother's children?And knows that it is well.
TWO BROTHERS: THEODOSIA GARRISON
The dead son's mother sat and wept?And her live son plucked at her gown,?"Oh, mother, long is the watch we've kept!"?But she beat the small hands down.
The little live son he clung to her knee--?And frightened his eyes and dim--?"Have ye never, my mother, a word for me?"?But she turned her face from him,
Saying, "Oh and alack, mine own dead son,?Could I know but the path aright,?How fast and how fast my feet would run?Through the way o' Death to-night!"
Saying, "Oh and alack, for thy empty place?And the ache in my heart to hide!"?The little live son has touched her face,?But she thrust his hands aside.
The mother hath laid her down and wept?In the midnight's chill and gloom;?In the hour ere dawn while the mother slept?The ghost came in the room.
And the little live son hath called his name?Or ever he passed the door,?"Oh, brother, brother, 'tis well ye came,?For our mother's grief is sore!
"Oh, brother, brother, she weeps for thee?As a rain that beats all day,?But me she pushes from off her knee?And turneth her eyes away."
And the little dead son he spake again,?"My brother, the dead have grace?Though they lay them low from the sight of men?With a white cloth on their face.
"Oh, brother, the dead have gifts of love,?Though lonely and low they lie,?By my mother's love do I speak and move?And may not wholly die."
The little live son he sighed apart,?"Oh, brother, ye live," quoth he,?"In my mother's grief and my mother's heart?And my mother's memory.
"And vain for thee is my mother's cry,"?The little live son hath said,?"For ye are loved and ye may not die--?It is only I who am dead!"
THE LITTLE DEAD CHILD: JOSEPHINE DASKAM BACON
When all but her were sleeping fast,?And the night was nearly fled,?The little dead child came up the stair?And stood by his mother's bed.
"Ah, God!" she cried, "the nights are three,?And yet I have not slept!"?The little dead child he sat him down,?And sank his head and wept.
"And is it thou, my little dead child,?Come in from out the storm??Ah, lie thou back against my heart,?And I will keep thee warm!"
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