Part 11 (2/2)

And I said, ”Dear friend! my soul shall treasure thy request, And when the night of fever and unrest Melts in the morning of Eternity, Like a freed bird, then I will come to thee.

”I will come to thee in the morning, sweet!

I have been true; and soul with soul shall meet Before G.o.d's throne, and shall not be afraid.

Thou gav'st me trust, and it was not betrayed.

”I will come to thee in the morning, dear!

The night is dark. I do not know how near The morn may be of that Eternal Day; I can but keep my faithful watch and pray.

”I will come to thee in the morning, love!

Wait for me on the Eternal Heights above.

The way is troubled where my feet must climb, Ere I shall tread the mountain-top sublime.

”I will come in the morning, O, mine own!

But for a time must grope my way alone, Through tears and sorrow, till the Day shall dawn, And I shall hear the summons, and pa.s.s on.

”I will come in the morning. Rest secure!

My hope is certain and my faith is sure.

After the gloom and darkness of the night I will come to thee with the morning light.”

Three peaceful years slipped silently away.

We dwelt together in my childhood's home, Aunt Ruth and I, and sunny-hearted May.

She was a fair and most exquisite child; Her pensive face was delicate and mild Like her dead mother's; but through her dear eyes Her father smiled upon me, day by day.

Afar in foreign countries did he roam, Now resting under Italy's blue skies, And now with Roy in Scotland.

And he sent Brief, friendly letters, telling where he went And what he saw, addressed to May or me.

And I would write and tell him how she grew-- And how she talked about him o'er the sea In her sweet baby fas.h.i.+on; how she knew His picture in the alb.u.m; how each day She knelt and prayed the blessed Lord would bring Her own papa back to his little May.

It was a warm bright morning in the Spring.

I sat in that same sunny portico, Where I was sitting seven years ago When Vivian came. My eyes were full of tears, As I looked back across the checkered years.

How many were the changes they had brought!

Pain, death, and sorrow! but the lesson taught To my young heart had been of untold worth.

I had learned how to ”suffer and grow strong”-- That knowledge which best serves us here on earth, And brings reward in Heaven.

Oh! how long The years had been since that June morning when I heard his step upon the walk, and yet I seemed to hear its echo still.

Just then Down that same path I turned my eyes, tear-wet, And lo! the wanderer from a foreign land Stood there before me!--holding out his hand And smiling with those wond'rous eyes of old.

To hide my tears, I ran and brought his child; But she was shy, and clung to me, when told This was papa, for whom her prayers were said.

She dropped her eyes and shook her little head, And would not by his coaxing be beguiled, Or go to him.

Aunt Ruth was not at home, And we two sat and talked, as strangers might, Of distant countries which we both had seen.

But once I thought I saw his large eyes light With sudden pa.s.sion, when there came a pause In our chit-chat, and then he spoke: ”Maurine, I saw a number of your friends in Rome.

We talked of you. They seemed surprised, because You were not 'mong the seekers for a name.

They thought your whole ambition was for fame.”

”It might have been,” I answered, ”when my heart Had nothing else to fill it. Now my art Is but a recreation. I have _this_ To love and live for, which I had not then.”

And, leaning down, I pressed a tender kiss Upon my child's fair brow.

”And yet,” he said, The old light leaping to his eyes again, ”And yet, Maurine, they say you might have wed A n.o.ble Baron! one of many men Who laid their hearts and fortunes at your feet.

Why won the bravest of them no return?”

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