Nearly Bedtime.

Only half an hour or so
    Before nurse calls them to bed,
And the ruddy light of a cheerful fire
    Shines over each curly head.

No trouble have they, no sorrow -
    Their hearts are lighter than air,
No fear that a dark to-morrow
    May bring with it want or care.

God send them each on their pathway
    Many a wayside flower;
And grant, in the evening of lifetime,
    The joy of the evening hour.

Lizzie Lawson

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Lizzie Lawson

Father's Boat.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

Hie For Christmas!

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

A Slander.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

Little Bo-Peep.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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Bedtime.

"It's bedtime, bedtime, Cissy dear,
    It's time to put away,
Your little Noah's ark dear
    Until another day,
You know it isn't right at all
    To tire yourself with play.

And they too must be tired dear,
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To bed, - if they're much later,
    They'll all be ill I know,
And every well bred camel,
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In The Twilight

Not bed-time yet! The night-winds blow,
The stars are out, - full well we know
The nurse is on the stair,
With hand of ice and cheek of snow,
And frozen lips that whisper low,
"Come, children, it is time to go
My peaceful couch to share."

No years a wakeful heart can tire;
Not bed-time yet! Come, stir the fire
And warm your dear old hands;
Kind Mother Earth we love so well
Has pleasant stories yet to tell
Before we hear the curfew bell;
Still glow the burning brands.

Not bed-time yet! We long to know
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Henry, Aged Eight Years.

Yellow leaves, how fast they flutter - woodland hollows thickly strewing,
    Where the wan October sunbeams scantly in the mid-day win,
While the dim gray clouds are drifting, and in saddened hues imbuing
        All without and all within!

All within! but winds of autumn, little Henry, round their dwelling
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        Fast as tears that dim her eyes.

Life is fraught with many changes, checked with sorrow and mutation,
    But no grief it ever lightened such a truth before to know: -
I behold them - father, mother - as they seem to contemplation,
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Time Enough

I know it is early morning,
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And your heart is afire with Youth's desire
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'Tis a curious fact that a generous act
Brings leisure and luck to a day.

I know it is only the noontime -
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But the hours run fast when noon has passed,
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For the sorriest woe that a soul can know
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I know it is almost evening,
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The Evening Hour.

    Like the herald hope of a fairer clime,
The brightest link in the chain of time,
The youngest and loveliest child of day,
I mingle and soften each glowing ray;
Weaving together a tissue bright
Of the beams of day and the gems of night.--
I pitch my tent in the glowing west,
And receive the sun as he sinks to rest;
He flings in my lap his ruby crown,
And lays at my feet his glory down;
But ere his burning eyelids close,
His farewell glance the day-king throws
On Nature's face--till the twilight shrouds
The monarch's brow in a veil of clouds--
Oh then, by the light of mine own fair star,
I unyoke the steeds from his beamy car.
Away they start from the fiery rein,
With flashing hoofs, and flying mane,
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Night.

'Tis eventide; the noisy brook is hushed
Or murmurs only as a tired child,
Worn out with play; the tangled weeds lie still
Within the marshy hollow.    Quaint and dark
The willows bend above the brooklet's tide,
Reflecting shadowy images therein.
The dark-browed trees, with faces to the sky,
Shut out the light that fades in crimson lines
Along the western sky.    And yonder shade
Of purple marks the cloud, the storm-god rides
In moods of angry fire.

            The woods are filled
With wild-wood blossoms drinking in the dew.
Their scented breath is sweeter than the maid's
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From every budding flower.

                All day the sun
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