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 pa.s.sed 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, G.o.d!" 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!"

_That is long ago, mother,_ _Long and long ago!_ _Shall I grow warm who lay three nights_ _Beneath the winter snow?_

"Hast thou not heard the old nurse weep?

She sings to us no more; And thy brothers leave the broken toys And whisper in the door."

_That is far away, mother,_ _Far and far away!_ _Above my head the stone is white._ _My hands forget to play._

"What wilt thou then, my little dead child, Since here thou may'st not lie?

Ah, me! that snow should be thy sheet, And winds thy lullaby!"

_Down within my grave, mother,_ _I heard, I know not how,_ _"Go up to G.o.d, thou little child,_ _Go up and meet him now!"_

_That is far to fare, mother,_ _Far and far to fare!_ _I come for thee to carry me_ _The way from here to there._

"Oh, hold thy peace, my little dead child.

My heart will break in me!

Thy way to G.o.d thou must go alone, I may not carry thee!"

The c.o.c.k crew out the early dawn Ere she could stay her moan; She heard the cry of a little child, Upon his way alone.

THE CHILD ALONE: ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON

They say the night has fallen chill-- But I know naught of mist or rain, Only of two small hands that still Beat on the darkness all in vain.

They say the wind blows high and wild Down the long valleys to the sea; But I can only hear the child, Who weeps in darkness, wanting me.

Beyond the footfalls in the street, Above the voices of the bay, I hear the sound of little feet, Two little stumbling feet astray.

Oh, loud the autumn wind makes moan, The desolate wind about my door, And a little child goes all alone Who never was alone before.

THE CHILD: THEODOSIA GARRISON

I heard her crying in the night,-- So long, so long I lay awake, Watching the moonlight ebb and break Against the sill like waves of light.

I tried to close my eyes nor heed And lie quite still--but oh, again The little voice of fright and pain Sobbed in the darkness of her need.

Strange shadows led me down the stair; Creaked as I went the hollow floor; I drew the bolt and flung the door Wide, wide, and softly called her there.

_Ah me, as happy mothers call_ _Through the tender twilights to the gay,_ _Glad truant making holiday_ _Too long before the evenfall._

The garden odors drifted through, The scent of earth and box and rose, And then, as silently as those, A little wistful child I knew.

So small, so frightened and so cold, Ah, close, so close I gathered her Within my arms, she might not stir, And crooned and kissed her in their hold.

_As might a happy mother, when,_ _Aghast for some quaint, trifling thing,_ _One runs to her for comforting,_ _And smiles within her arms again._

All night upon my heart she lay, All night I held her warm and close, Until the morning wind arose And called across the world for day.

The garden odors drifted through The open door; as still as they She pa.s.sed into the awful day, A little, wistful child I knew.

Think you for this G.o.d's smile may dim (His are so many, many dead) Seeing that I but comforted A child--and sent her back to Him!