But listens where the echoes Of his own discords fall, Then clamours back to Heaven Oh God, man's heart is darkened, He will not understand! Show him Thy cloud and fire; And, with Thine own right hand, Then lead him through his desert, Back to Thy Holy Land! A NEW MOTHER. WAS with my lady when she died : Laid her baby by her on the bed, And I drew them round my knee that night, I, who guessed what her last dread had been, That her children's hearts, at any cost, And I knew so much! for I had lived With my lady since her childhood: known What her young and happy days had been, eyes had seen And the grief no other Ah! she once had such a happy smile! No-I will not say he was unkind; She, who should have reigned a blooming flower, She, whose will had once ruled all around, Change indeed in that cold, stately place. Yet she would not blame him, even to me, But she could not hide it near her death, When she said with her last struggling breath, "Let my babies still remain my own!" I it was who drew the sheet aside, When he saw his dead wife's face. That test And he wept-Oh yes, I will be just- And he soothed them with his fond replies, Ah, I loved them well for her dear sake: May, with all her mother's pretty ways, And the little one of all-poor child! Once Sir Arthur spoke my lady's name, When the baby's gloomy christening came, And he called her " Olga-like my wife!" Save that time, he never spoke of her: And the children felt it, for they dropped Low their voices, and their laughter stopped While he stood and watched them at their play. No, he never named their mother's name. But I told them of her: told them all She had been; so gentle, good, and bright; And I always took them every night Where her picture hung in the great hall. There she stood: white daisies in her hand, With a smile; the blue and sunny air |