Part 23 (1/2)

Our little house upon the hill In winter time is strangely still; The roof tree, bare of leaves, stands high, A candelabrum for the sky, And down below the lamplights glow, And ours makes answer o'er the snow.

Our little house upon the hill In summer time strange voices fill; With ceaseless rustle of the leaves, And birds that twitter in the eaves, And all the vines entangled so The village lights no longer show.

Our little house upon the hill Is just the house of Jack and Jill, And whether showing or unseen, Hid behind its leafy screen; There's a star that points it out When the lamp lights are in doubt.

The Homeland. [Dana Burnet]

My land was the west land; my home was on the hill, I never think of my land but it makes my heart to thrill; I never smell the west wind that blows the golden skies, But old desire is in my feet and dreams are in my eyes.

My home crowned the high land; it had a stately grace.

I never think of my land but I see my mother's face; I never smell the west wind that blows the silver s.h.i.+ps But old delight is in my heart and mirth is on my lips.

My land was a high land; my home was near the skies.

I never think of my land but a light is in my eyes; I never smell the west wind that blows the summer rain -- But I am at my mother's knee, a little lad again.

Cradle Song. [Josephine Preston Peabody]

I

Lord Gabriel, wilt thou not rejoice When at last a little boy's Cheek lies heavy as a rose And his eyelids close?

Gabriel, when that hush may be, This sweet hand all heedfully I'll undo for thee alone, From his mother's own.

Then the far blue highway paven With the burning stars of heaven, He shall gladden with the sweet Hasting of his feet: --

Feet so brightly bare and cool, Leaping, as from pool to pool; From a little laughing boy Splas.h.i.+ng rainbow joy!

Gabriel, wilt thou understand How to keep this hovering hand? -- Never shut, as in a bond, From the bright beyond? --

Nay, but though it cling and close Tightly as a climbing rose, Clasp it only so, -- aright, Lest his heart take fright.

(~Dormi, dormi, tu.

The dusk is hung with blue.~)

II

Lord Michael, wilt not thou rejoice When at last a little boy's Heart, a shut-in murmuring bee, Turns him unto thee?

Wilt thou heed thine armor well, -- To take his hand from Gabriel, So his radiant cup of dream May not spill a gleam?

He will take thy heart in thrall, Telling o'er thy breastplate, all Colors, in his bubbling speech, With his hand to each.