Don’t be cross if the tide rolls high; God still rules in the stormy sky. Still be kind though the way is dark; God saves some in a helpless Ark. Don’t be cross, for a mighty host Now looks on; not a word is lost. What is earth, and its riches what? Soon all past, and its gold forgot. Don’t be cross, for the iron pen Still writes on; for the great Amen Summons each to the shining throne, There to meet every word his own. Keep us, Lord, from the hasty word That wounds all hearts like the cruel sword! And with the blood that for us was shed, Blot cross words from the records read. “WAKING UP THE STARS” Morn has lighted up the azure, Yet our precious baby-treasure Has not wakened from her slumbers, And she dreams the starry numbers All have closed their twinkling eyes, As she sails the soft blue skies; Sails on clouds as white as snow, Far above the world below. Silken ringlets, golden-brown, From her temples rippling down, Rest aglow upon the pillow, While she floats dream’s joyous billow. Now the lashes on her cheek Tremble, as she wakes to speak; From the pillow she is springing, And the baby-accents ringing, Like the song-bird’s from its bars, “I was waking up the stars!” Baby dear, so sweetly dreaming, All the world so guileless seeming; We’re the stars that need awaking; ’Tis our slumber that needs breaking. Life’s short day is almost done; Wake us for the setting sun. LULLABY OF THE STARS Come little earth-star, where the babies sleep; Fly up the blue path, and time with us keep. O spread your cloud-wings, bright, tiny star, Come towards the Pleiades shining afar! Come, little earth-star, where the babies dream, Rocked in the cradles soft, ’neath starry gleam. Swung in the hammocks bright, ’neath summer trees, Where the breath of roses floats on the breeze. Come, little earth-star, where the babies laugh, Drinking the sweet milk God hath made to quaff. Bathed in the sunshine ever fresh and new, Tell them we are watching up in the blue. Tell them we’re shining still ’mid the light; Glitt’ring and twinkling all through the night. Gleaming at morn ’tween rose-clouds aglow; Peering through the dark storm laden with snow. Wee, precious earth-world, though so very small, All the big stars know thee; thou art watched by all. No star so favored as thyself hath been, Where the King of Glory died to save from sin. Brightest of sunbeam kiss thy ripening food. Countless pure angels guard thy baby brood. When we sing Love’s anthem, shouting it afar, There’s a tender chorus sung for thee, O star!