THERE’S AN ANGEL HERE

Don’t be cross if the dishes break:

Don’t be cross if the baby wake:

There is a pen and a record near;

O speak kind,—there’s an angel here!

Don’t be harsh if your will be crossed;

Life’s great sea may be tempest-tossed;

Call on Christ, for the billows kneel,

If His hand shall but touch the wheel.

Don’t be cross if the tide rolls high;

God still rules in the stormy sky.

Still be kind though the way is dark;

God saves some in a helpless Ark.

Don’t be cross, for a mighty host

Now looks on; not a word is lost.

What is earth, and its riches what?

Soon all past, and its gold forgot.

Don’t be cross, for the iron pen

Still writes on; for the great Amen

Summons each to the shining throne,

There to meet every word his own.

Keep us, Lord, from the hasty word

That wounds all hearts like the cruel sword!

And with the blood that for us was shed,

Blot cross words from the records read.

“WAKING UP THE STARS”

Morn has lighted up the azure,

Yet our precious baby-treasure

Has not wakened from her slumbers,

And she dreams the starry numbers

All have closed their twinkling eyes,

As she sails the soft blue skies;

Sails on clouds as white as snow,

Far above the world below.

Silken ringlets, golden-brown,

From her temples rippling down,

Rest aglow upon the pillow,

While she floats dream’s joyous billow.

Now the lashes on her cheek

Tremble, as she wakes to speak;

From the pillow she is springing,

And the baby-accents ringing,

Like the song-bird’s from its bars,

“I was waking up the stars!”

Baby dear, so sweetly dreaming,

All the world so guileless seeming;

We’re the stars that need awaking;

’Tis our slumber that needs breaking.

Life’s short day is almost done;

Wake us for the setting sun.