Kisses
Little child, when twilight shadows
Close the western gates of gold,
Then those loving arms of mother's
Tenderly about thee fold.
Over lip and cheek and forehead
Like a shower caresses fall;
For a mother's kiss at twilight
Is the sweetest kiss of all.
Slender maiden, at the gateway,
Shy, sweet face and downcast eyes,
Two fair trembling hands imprisoned,
Swift each golden moment flies;
Lips that softly press thy forehead
All the rosy blushes call;
For a lover's kiss at evening
Is the fondest kiss of all.
Happy wife, thy noble husband,
More than half a lover yet,
For those sunny hours of wooing
Are too sweet to soon forget;
On thy smiling mouth uplifted
Tenderly his kisses fall;
For a husband's kiss at parting
Is the dearest kiss of all.
Weary mother, little children
With their dimpled hands so fair,
O'er thy tired face passing lightly,
Soothe away the pain and care,
Lead your troubled thoughts to Heaven
Where no dreary shadows fall;
For the kiss of little children
Is the purest kiss of all.
The Queen And The Beggar's Child
Silk and diamonds and trailing lace,
Haughty carriage and fair proud face;
Out from the palace towering high
Grand and gray 'neath the bending sky,
O'er the lawn with its carpet green,
Lightly stepping, came Austria's Queen,
Flashing gems in the summer's sun,
Tender Mother and Queen in one.
Jewels gleam on her royal hands,
Clasp her arms with their shining bands,
Sparkle and glow where the sunbeams fall;
But the most precious of them all
The nurse is holding with tender care, ―
The royal baby, rosy and fair;
Pressing fond kisses on cheek and brow,
The Queen is only a Mother now.
Down the lawn, in its shadow deep,
A beggar-woman lies asleep.
Hunger, poverty, pain, and care
Darken the face once young and fair;
There by the wayside, seeking rest,
Clasping a babe upon her breast,
Its hungry wail across the green
Stirs the heart of the Mother Queen.
Down on the green grass kneeling low,
Baring her bosom as white as snow,
Laying the child without a name
Where only royal babes have lain,
Feeding it from her own proud breast.
Hungry, starving, ― ah! there's the test, ―
Mother-love spans the chasm wide;
Queen and station must stand aside!
In Answer
'Madam, we miss the train at B_____.'
'But can't you make it, sir?' she gasped.
'Impossible! it leaves at three,
And we are due a quarter past.'
'Is there no way? Oh! tell me, then,
Are you a Christian?''I am not.'
'And are there none among the men
Who run the train?''No ― I forgot ―
I think this fellow over here,
Oiling the engine, claims to be.'
She turned upon the engineer
A fair face white with agony.
'Are you a Christian?''Yes, I am.'
'Then, O, sir! won't you pray with me,
All the long way, that God will stay,
That God will hold the train at B_____?'
''Twill do no good. It leaves at three,
And ―''Yes, but God can hold the train;
My dying child is calling me,
And I must see her face again.
Oh! won't you pray?''I will!' a nod
Emphatic, as he takes his place.
When Christians grasp the arm of God
They grasp the power that rules the race.
Out from the station swept the train
On time, ― swept on past wood and lea;
The engineer, with cheeks aflame,
Prayed, 'O Lord, hold the train at B____!'
Then flung the throttle wide, and like
Some giant monster of the plain,
With panting sides and mighty strides,
Past hill and valley swept the train.
A half, ― a minute, ― two are gained;
Along those burnished lines of steel
His glances leap, each nerve is strained,
And still he prays with fervent zeal.
Heart, hand, and brain with one accord
Work while his prayer ascends to Heaven:
'Just hold the train eight minutes, Lord,
And I'll make up the other seven.'
With rush and roar through meadow lands,
Past cottage homes and green hillsides,
The panting thing obeys his hands,
And speeds along with giant strides.
They say an accident delayed
The train a little while; but He
Who listened while His children prayed,
In answer held the train at B______.
