There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue: The robin pipes when the sun is here, And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear; But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear-- There is ever a song somewhere, my dear-- There is ever a song somewhere! _When Bessie Died_ If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped, And ne'er would nestle in your palm again; If the white feet into the grave had tripped--" When Bessie died-- We braided the brown hair, and tied It just as her own little hands Had fastened back the silken strands A thousand times-- the crimson bit Of ribbon woven into it That she had worn with childish pride-- Smoothed down the dainty bow-- and cried When Bessie died. When Bessie died-- We drew the nursery blinds aside, And as the morning in the room Burst like a primrose into bloom, Her pet canary's cage we hung Where she might hear him when he sung-- And yet not any note he tried, Though she lay listening folded-eyed. When Bessie died-- We writhed in prayer unsatisfied: We begged of God, and He did smile In silence on us all the while; And we did see Him, through our tears, Enfolding that fair form of hers, She laughing back against His love The kisses had nothing of-- And death to us He still denied, When Bessie died-- When Bessie died. _The Shower_ The landscape, like the awed face of a child, Grew curiously blurred; a hush of death Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild The zephyr held its breath. No wavering glamour-work of light and shade Dappled the shivering surface of the brook; The frightened ripples in their ambuscade Of willows thrilled and shook. The sullen day grew darker, and anon Dim flashes of pent anger lit the sky; With rumbling wheels of wrath came rolling on The storm's artillery. The cloud above put on its blackest frown, And then, as with a vengeful cry of pain, The lightning snatched it, ripped and flung it down In ravelled shreds of rain: While I, transfigured by some wondrous art, Bowed with the thirsty lilies to the sod, My empty soul brimmed over, and my heart Drenched with the love of God. _A Life Lesson_ There! Little girl; don't cry! They have broken your doll, I know; And your tea-set blue, And your play-house too, Are things of the long ago; But childish troubles will soon pass by--. There! Little girl; don't cry! There! Little girl; don't cry! They have broken your slate, I know; And the glad, wild ways Of your school-girl days Are things of the long ago; But life and love will soon come by--. There! Little girl; don't cry!