A LITTLE SCHOOL-GIRL.
She stood at the gate father, mother beside her
Warm lay the sunlight on vine and on tree;
With tasks, long and careful, her parents had plied her,
And laden with song-book and basket was she.
"Now bring all the praise for the lessons best learned,
And the prize for the songs sung sweetest," they said,
"So joys shall await you at even, well earned,
And blessings undreamed of be heaped on your head."
She passed down the street where the deep shadows lay,
And they turned to the garden behind the old grange;
Their hope gave new voice to the light wind all day,
And the fruit-covered walls had a glow that was strange.
She came when late flowers were folding to slumber,
And she said, "Many triumphed, but I triumphed not;
I sung out of time false notes without number
And the tasks that you taught me so fondly, forgot."
Then their arms they outstretched, one who wept to enfold,
And they said, while she thought that the loss they bewailed,
"Oh, child! if you won, of reward rich we told,
But we said not a word of our love if you failed."
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GO forth, brave heart, with purpose high,
The world has need of labor;
Go wipe the tear from sorrow's eye,
And help and bless thy neighbor.
Go forth, brave heart, be strong and bold,
And nobly do thy duty;
So shall thine eyes at last behold
The King, in all his beauty