Till, o'er this chaos of despair Rose, like celestial breath, The law of order, discipline, Obedience unto death. The soldiers mustered upon deck, As mute as on parade; "Women and children to the boats!" And not a man gainsayed. Without a murmur or a moan They stood, formed rank and file, Between the dreadful crystal seas And the sky's dreadful smile. In face of death they did their work As they in life would do, Embarking at a quiet quay-- A quiet, silent crew. "Now each man for himself. To the boats!" Arose a passing cry. The soldier-captain answered, "Swamp The women and babes?--No, die!" And so they died. Each in his place, Obedient to command, They went down with the sinking ship, Went down in sight of land. The great sea oped her mouth, and closed O'er them. Awhile they trod The valley of the shadow of death, And then were safe with God. * * * * * My little girlies--What! your tears Are dropping on the grass, Over my more than "fairy" tale, A tale that "really was!" Nay, dry them. If we could but see The joy in angels' eyes O'er good lives, or heroic deaths Of pure self-sacrifice,-- We should not weep o'er these that sleep-- Their short, sharp struggle o'er-- Under the rolling waves that break Upon the Afric shore. God works not as man works, nor sees As man sees: though we mark Ofttimes the moving of His hands Beneath the eternal Dark. But yet we know that all is well That He, who loved all these, Loves children laughing on the moor, Birds singing in the trees; That He who made both life and death, He knoweth which is best: We live to Him, we die to Him, And leave Him all the rest. BIRDS IN THE SNOW CHILD I WISH I were a little bird When the sun shines And the wind whispers low, Through the tall pines, I'd rock in the elm tops, Rifle the pear-tree, Hide in the cherry boughs, O such a rare tree! I wish I were a little bird; All summer long I'd fly so merrily Sing such a song! Song that should never cease While daylight lasted, Wings that should never tire Howe'er they hasted. MOTHER