POETRY.
THE LITTLE GHOST.
THE stars began to peep; Gone was the bitter day; She heard the milky ewes Bleat to their lambs astray.
Her heart cried for her lamb Cold in the churchyard sod : She could not think on the happy children At play with the Lamb of God.
She her rd the calling ewes And the lambs' answer, alas I She heard her heart's blood drip in the night As the ewes' milk on the grass.
Her tears that burnt like fire So bitter and slow ran down : She could not think on the new-washed children Playing by Mary's gown.
Oh, who is this comes in Over her threshold-stone P And why is the old dog wild with joy Who all day long made moan P This fair little radiant ghost, Her one little son of seven, New-'scaped from the band of merry children In the nurseries of Heaven.
He was all clad in white, Without a speck or stain ; His curls had a ring of light That rose and fell again.
" Now come with me, my own mother, And you shall have great ease, For you shall see the lost children Gathered to Mary's knees." Oh, lightly sprang she up.
Nor waked her sleeping man ; And hand in hand with the little ghost Through the dark night she ran.
She is gone swift as a fawn, As a bird homes to its nest.
She has seen them lie, the sleepy children, 'Twixt Mary's arm and breast.
At morning she came back ; Her eyes were strange to see.
She will not fear the long journey However long it be.
As she goes in and out She sings unto hersel' ; For she has seen the mothers' children And knows that it is well.
KATHARINE TYNAN.
Previous page
