Atlanta offering: PoemsHarper, Frances Ellen Watkins
General
Atlanta offering: Poems
Harper, Frances Ellen Watkins
African Americans -- Poetry
“See! my boy, the waves are rising,
Save yourself and leave the child!”
“I will trust in Christ,” he answered;
Grasped the little one and smiled.
Through the roar of wind and waters
Ever and anon she cried;
But throughout the night of terror
Never Bennie’s voice replied.
But above the waves’ wild surging
He had found a safe retreat,
As if God had sent an angel,
Just to guide his wandering feet.
When the storm had spent its fury,
And the sea gave up its dead,
She was mourning for her loved ones,
Lost amid that night of dread.
While her head was bowed in anguish,
On her ear there fell a voice,
Bringing surcease to her sorrow,
Bidding all her heart rejoice.
“Didn’t I tell you true?” said Bennie,
And his eyes were full of light,
“When I told you God would help me
Through the dark and dreadful night?”
And he placed the little darling
Safe within his mother’s arms.
Feeling Christ had been his guardian,
’Mid the dangers and alarms.
Oh! for faith so firm and precious,
In the darkest, saddest night,
Till life’s gloom-encircled shadows
Fade in everlasting light.
And upon the mount of vision
We our loved and lost shall greet,
With earth’s wildest storms behind us,
And its cares beneath our feet.
MOTHER’S TREASURES.
Two little children sit by my side,
I call them Lily and Daffodil;
I gaze on them with a mother’s pride,
One is Edna, the other is Will.
Both have eyes of starry light,
And laughing lips o’er teeth of pearl.
I would not change for a diadem
My noble boy and darling girl.
To-night my heart o’erflows with joy;
I hold them as a sacred trust;
I fain would hide them in my heart,
Safe from tarnish of moth and rust.
What should I ask for my dear boy?
The richest gifts of wealth or fame?
What for my girl? A loving heart
And a fair and a spotless name?
What for my boy? That he should stand
A pillar of strength to the state?
What for my girl? That she should be
The friend of the poor and desolate?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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