Read Ebook: Snowflakes by Karn Esther Nelson

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Ebook has 239 lines and 13285 words, and 5 pages

Nothing we give our Father's cause Escapes His watchful eyes; Each mite will be a jewel rare To deck the crown we'll surely wear Some day in Paradise.

WEARY.

Weary of the tumult of the town, Of the burdens and the cares that weigh me down, Of oppression, greed, and strife, Of the din of city life, Disappointments that my noblest efforts crown.

Weary of the world's vain, gilded styles, Though my moments he with softest words beguiles; Though he warble ne'er so blandly, His old heart is false though friendly, For he lingers near me but when fortune smiles.

Weary of his griefs and empty show, To the quiet woods alone I love to go, And in sweet repose abide Where the sylvan echoes ride On October's drowsy winds that whisper low.

Where the bonnie squirrel flits among the trees, And the quail his piping flings upon the breeze, Where the gold and brown leaves quiver O'er the winding, osiered river, Bearing on its soft, low music to the seas.

And the forest oak, so grand, majestic, high, With his rainbow-mantled branches woos the sky, And the wind a fairy story Breathing o'er the maple's glory, Brings it down in twirling crimson showers, where lie

Many springtime flowers, fast asleep, Spreading over them a cover warm and deep; And the sunlight glints and spangles Through the wild and woody tangles, Where alone the eye of God doth vigils keep.

Standing there on wild, leaf-covered sod, Where perhaps no human foot before hath trod My storm-tossed soul is blest In a halo of sweet rest, All alone within the crimson wood with God.

TO A VIOLET.

Violet, sweet violet, Of modest, dainty grace, Why dost thou hide among the grass Thy pretty velvet face?

Thine eyes are filled with dew, thy breath Makes sweet the air of spring; Thy whispers low, sweet memories Of other springtimes bring.

Sweet olden, golden springtimes, When bluebirds sang so gay, As I plucked thy sister blossoms From a woodland far away,

With her, whose eyes, in color, Sweet flow'r, were just like you, And like you grew in radiance From drinking heaven's blue.

Each spring, as lisping children, As romping schoolgirls, too, Our feet were bathed in violet banks That dripped with melting dew;

Our souls were bathed in bliss divine, As all day long we basked In sweet and fragrant winds we knew Had kissed them as they passed.

But when the summer sun shone hot, Their slender stems were dried; Their modest heads bent lower, and Their fragrant blossoms died;

And could we pierce to-day the blue Of heaven's dome so fair, Methinks we'd see them blooming in Celestial glory there!

Culled by our angel Emma, In a rapturous clime, that lies In the radiant, springtime glory Of the fields of Paradise!

GOLDEN DAYS.

SONG.

I've just seen the first robin of spring, Emma, And he's warbling a sweet little song, Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma, And of joys that to childhood belong. He was singing a song to his mate, Emma, A sweet song of happiness and love, And it echoed thro' woodland and dale, Emma, Over valley and hilltop and grove.

CHORUS:

Oh, those happy, happy days gone by, Emma, Their memory is ever dear to me; Oh, those old golden, glorious days, Emma, When I played 'mong the flowers with thee.

Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma, When life seemed only a song, Holding neither a sorrow nor tear, Emma, As we played 'mong the flowers all day long. We gathered the mosses and ferns, Emma, The cowslips and violets so blue, And the crab-apple blossoms so sweet, Emma, And the sweet, mellow May-apple, too.

CHORUS.

You remember the old apple-tree, Emma, With its wide-spreading branches o'erhead? Such perfume I have never since found, Emma, As its sweet, fragrant blossoms did shed. But now we are far, far apart, Emma, The sunny days of childhood are o'er, But we'll roam hand in hand 'mong the flowers, Emma, That bloom on the Bright Golden Shore.

CHORUS.

BABY MINE.

Tired of laughter, tired of play, Baby mine, On my breast thy tresses lay, Baby mine. Cooing, loving, prattling, too,-- Shine and showers the whole day thro', Tires a bonnie thing like you, Baby mine.

Little violets so blue, Baby mine, Close their eyes now wet with dew, Baby mine, Saying, sweetheart, unto you, Close those orbs of azure hue, Where that glimpse of heaven gleams thro', Baby mine.

Whence that dimpled foot and hand, Baby mine? Came they here at love's command, Baby mine? Or did angels, in their flight, Drop this little blossom white On the stream of time one night, Baby mine?

Dimples guard thy crimson lips, Baby mine; Prints of fairy finger-tips, Baby mine. Now the shade of angel wings Sweet repose upon thee brings,-- Silken soft thy slumberings, Baby mine.

LULLABY.

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my dear, Nothing can harm you, for mother is near. The journey is short, and the stars twinkle bright O'er your path into Byloland, baby, good-night.

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my pet, Grasses that cover your pathway are wet With dewdrops that sparkle like jewels so bright, Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, good-night.

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, sweetheart of mine, Rest from their prattle those red lips of thine. Bridges you cross in your Byloland flight Sway to your footsteps, my baby, good-night.

Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my love, Angels are watching thy cradle above. Thy feet into Byloland's dreamy delight Have entered, then rest, little pilgrim, good-night.

A DAY IN JUNE.

This is the month of roses, dear, The sweetest time of all the year. Field, woodland, roadside,--everywhere, Is clad in crimson beauty rare. The very earth beneath our feet Is covered with their petals sweet; Where'er we go the balmy air Is laden with sweet fragrance rare.

And now and then, dear, we may see The cheerful, busy little bee From out this dainty, crimson flow'r, Sip nectar for his winter store. The sky is blue, and there and here We see a fleecy cloud appear; Nor tongue nor pen can e'er portray The beauties of this sweet June day.

In mem'ry, dear, it takes me back Along life's sunny backward track Just thirteen years, to a sweet June day And a little cot, not far away, Where roses bloomed, and song of bird Throughout the livelong day was heard; But never was this song so gay As on that blissful, bright June day.

Within that little nut-brown cot, On earth the dearest, sweetest spot, A wee pink flower, both sweet and gay, First opened to the light of day. As time flew by on fairy wing, This wee pink flower, this dainty thing, Of all our love demanded part, And twined its tendrils 'round each heart.

Sometimes, without, 'twas dark and dreary, But all within this cot was cheery, Because this little floweret gay Chased gloom and shadows all away. This dainty thing, so dear to me, This little flower I have in thee. 'Neath blue June sky and rainbow shower, Long live earth's purest, sweetest flower.

CHRISTMAS ON THE FARM.

Don't you remember, oh, brother mine! What fun we had at Christmas-time, Out on the old farm, you and I-- That home we loved in days gone by? How up in the loft we used to climb For nuts, stored there in autumn-time, To crack and eat by the dear old fire, While the cheerful blaze leaped high'r and high'r?

And when it was time to go to bed, How each tired, sleepy little head Was laid on a pillow, soft and white, To dream of Christmas the livelong night? And how in the morn, before 'twas light, Our eyes were opened wide and bright, As we ran a race down the high old stair, To see if "Santa" had been there,

And brought his bundle of toys with him, And filled our stockings up to the brim? But dear old "Santa" would always stop And fill them full to the very top. Then we'd away to the old hillside, The country shoemaker's cot beside-- Just 'round the corner, near the wood, Where the tall old beech-tree grew and stood.

And the snowbirds hopped on its boughs awry As our brand-new sled went whizzing by; And down to the foot of the hill we'd go, Over the crystal Christmas snow. Oh, could life's downward journey be As free from care for you and me; Our hearts be filled with the same glad rays Of those olden, golden Christmas days!

When life was so sunny, bright, and new, Oh, brother mine! for me and you. A happier home none ever had Than ours, holding hearts so light and glad. But those happy Christmas days of yore To us will come again no more; For she who chased all our care away Sings a Christmas anthem in heaven to-day.

MY LITTLE BROWN-EYED SWEETHEART.

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