Of my wee one's eyes,--
Those wondering eyes.
He will come, my sweet,
And will haste to meet
Those hurrying feet
And those sea-blue eyes.

I know the day
Must weary away,
And my ship's in the bay,--
In the clear, blue bay,--
Ah! there's wind in the west,
For the waves have a crest,
But my bird's in the nest
And my ship's in the bay!




Gratitude.

There are some things, dear Friend, are easier far
To say in written words than when we sit
Eye answering eye, or hand to hand close knit.
Not that there is between us any bar
Of shyness or reserve; the day is past
For that, and utter trust has come at last.

Only, when shut alone and safe inside
These four white walls,--hearing no sound except