A little face to look at,
A little face to kiss;
Is there anything, I wonder,
That’s half so sweet as this?
A little cheek to dimple
When smiles begin to grow
A little mouth betraying
Which way the kisses go.
A slender little ringlet,
A rosy little ear;
A little chin to quiver
When falls the little tear.
A little face to look at,
A little face to kiss;
Is there anything, I wonder,
That’s half so sweet as this?
A little hand so fragile
All through the night to hold
Two little feet so tender
To tuck in from the cold.
Two eyes to watch the sunbeam
That with the shadow plays--
A darling little baby
To kiss and love always.
The Canary and Rose.
A lovely tea rose, in a new autumn gown,
Looked in at the window one day,
And said with a scorn:
“’Tis a beautiful morn;
But ugly enough is your lay.
Do you never grow weary of singing your songs
Shut up in that prison of brass?
_I_ do not admire
Your out of tune lyre,
And none seem to listen who pass.
“Last night as I beaded my bodice with dew,
And shook the perfume from the lace,
There came to the fence
Such a beautiful prince,
And said, looking into my face:
“Too lovely thou art to live here so obscure
To-morrow with me thou shalt roam.’
So he’s coming to-day,
And will bear me away
The queen of his heart and his home.”
Now, the dear little songster was pruning her wing
That had borrowed the sun’s yellow ray,
And shaking a note
In her quivering throat,
Replied in an indifferent way:
“My songs will not trouble you long. I discern
This breeze is forerunning a storm,
And should he delay
(This prince) on the way,
You must seek other quarters more warm.”
“Do you think,” said the rose, with a tremulous tone,
“The rain would disfigure my face?”
But e’en as she spoke
In the sky there awoke
A wind that demolished the vase.
With features all pale and distorted she cried,
Still clinging up close to the glass.
“Cry for help.” Said the bird,
“They will hear not a word,
For none seem to listen who pass.”
There’s a moral concealed in the little bird’s throat
That never her song will disclose;
But oft when the cloud
For the sun makes a shroud
She thinks of the beautiful rose,
Who died with a coronet touching her brow,
Crushed from sight by the hurrying throng,
And she smiles at a prince,
Who yet leans on the fence
And hears nothing else but her song.
A Sigh or a Tear.
A sigh or a tear
Is all you may fear,
As you watch the sweet-faced summer go,
And the throng of memories that you know.
A sigh for the star that stood in the West,
Now sinking down with the sun to rest,
For the smiles that live in an absent face
Like the blossoms of love in the heart’s clear vase.
A sigh or a tear
Is all you may fear.
A sigh or a tear
Is all you may fear
When you sit in the dusk with a new cigar,
And touch some chord on the old guitar.
A tear for the girl that was good and true,
For the songs of love--the letters, too,
And the ribbon around the roses tied
That long ago in the drawer died.
A sigh or a tear
Is all you may fear.
A sigh or a tear
Is all you may fear
When you raise the lid to the little chest
And find what a mother’s heart loves best,
A broken toy, a half-worn shoe,
Some little dresses of pink and blue,
The blocks that builded such marvelous towers,
A golden curl, and some withered flowers.
A sigh or a tear
Is all you may fear.
A sigh or a tear
Is all you may fear
When you gaze in the tomb of the dear dead past,
Where the shadows of sunshine yet are cast.
A sigh for the rose, though bleached and dried,
That close to the loved one lived and died,
For the voice that is still--once dear to thee--
For the face that is gone--ah me! ah me!
A sigh or a tear
Is all you may fear.
Snow-Flakes.
See the early snow-flakes!
Softly they descend,
Like an orchard blossom
Scattered by the wind.
Here and there they’re flying
Over all the trees,
High above them swarming
Like white-winged bees.
Faster still they’re whirling,
Dancing into sight,
Like a troop of fairies
When the moon is light.
Tripping down the highway
In a reckless gait,
Falling like a feather
Without sound or weight.
On the distant churchyard
Over graves unkept,
Where the leaves have drifted
And the clouds have wept.
Little band of angels
Doing only good,
Making white the meadow
And the lonely wood.
Greeting with light kisses
All they chance to meet,
Leaving shining footprints
All about the street.
Little winter children
Full of life and fun--
Oh! I love the snow-flakes,
Love them every one.
A Footprint.
A sweet song spoke to me one day,
Behind a prayer that passed my way,
Yet neither would for me delay
The upward flight.
I searched and found a footprint where
The song had tarried; but the prayer
Had left no trace on earth or air.
Straight from the heart it went to God
The song remained to smooth the clod,
And lay a flower upon the sod.
O, envied right!
If but one song of mine could chase
Some sorrow from the heart and face
I know in Heaven ’twould find a place.