The Book of God, the housekeeper, The babe that had been named for her, The book and babe and she between,— Through doors ajar I mark’d the scene. And, while she sat before me so, Content to share another’s woe; A captive for her sisters gone, Whom all their joy depended on; Cheer’d now to read of heavenly worth For souls denying self on earth; Moved now to do the deed she should, Lest wrong should lead that child from good;— Another soul, my heart felt sure Could keep, if so surrounded, pure,— If there God lured his thought above, And here one shared his name and love. The scene was homely; yes, I know, But homely scenes may haunt one so!— That still her sweet face with me stays, My days are all Thanksgiving Days. A MISAPPREHENSION NOT UNCOMMON. In loneliness I wander’d; When, lo, above me, ringing Amid the breeze That shook the trees, I heard a bird’s glad singing. I looked, and through the leaves could see The warbler nod and chirp for me. “One friend is left me yet,” thought I, And ventur’d near The song to hear; But when he saw me drawing nigh, Alas, in fright He took to flight! Not, not for me had been his care. He sang to greet the sunny air, And serve his own sweet nature. In loneliness I ponder’d; And lo, sweet laughter woke there The gentlest rills, That broke in trills About the lips that spoke there. Through smiles and blushes burst the glee,— And eyes that fill’d and flash’d for me. “Her soul,” I thought, “has heard my sigh”; And, drawing near, I bade her hear My tale of love—but from her eye The joy had flown. Not I alone, Alas, not I had been her care. She fill’d the world with sweetness there, To serve her own sweet nature. AUNTY’S ANSWER. My child, you come, and ask me why, The reason why I stared at you?— Ah, darling, one can use her eye!— Nay, did I stare?—You saw me too? I stared, then, at these great round eyes; And thought of all that each would see, Of all the cares, and all the cries, Ere you were old, you sprite, like me. And then I saw these tiny ears, And thought of how they both would grow, And thrill and tremble, ere the years Had taught them all they had to know. I saw these dainty limbs here, too, That run and jump and snatch and throw; And thought how little mine can do— Ah me, not always was it so! And what of these things?—Nothing, dear. You ask’d me only, that is all; And old is aunty, old and queer; So kiss me, child, and catch the ball. Alas, the darling!—How could I Tell her the thought?—It touch’d me so To think how—were she but to die Before she learn’d it all, you know.