The Baby's Tear.

A tiny drop of crystal dew
That fell from baby eyes of blue;
A shining treasure, there it lay
For grandma's love to wipe away.

A tear of sorrow, pure and meek
It graced our darling's dimpled cheek;
A gem so fair, that angels smiled
And claimed the treasure undefiled.

A sunbeam came with winsome grace
And chased the shadow from her face;
A smile fell from its wings of light
And baby eyes laughed at the sight.

The wee bright tear was kissed away,
Yet in our hearts its sorrow lay;
For like a shadow came the thought,
With pain and sorrow life is wrought.

Oh, baby heart, what will you do
When life's unrest is given you;
And mother-love no more like this
Each tear can banish with a kiss?

The love you brought, oh, baby dear,
Is like the sunbeam passing near;
A ray of light--a touch of gold
To keep our hearts from growing old.

Then may thy life grow strong and sweet
With mother-love to guide thy feet;
And may the sunbeams ever chase
Each shadow, darling from thy face.

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick was an American poet of the 19th century. Not much is known about her early life, but her poetry was well-regarded and she became known for her emotional and heartfelt verses. She contributed to various periodicals and was part of the literary scene of her time. Her works often focused on themes of love, nature, and the human experience. Despite her contributions, detailed biographical information about Sherrick remains sparse.

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick

Life.

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick, Simple Poetry

The Soldier's Grave.

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick, Simple Poetry

Summer Rain.

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick, Simple Poetry

Snow-Flakes.

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Life.

A dewy flower, bathed in crimson light,
May touch the soul--a pure and beauteous sight;
A golden river flashing 'neath the sun,
May reach the spot where life's dark waters run;
Yet, when the sun is gone, the splendor dies,
With drooping head the tender flower lies.
And such is life; a golden mist of light,
A tangled web that glitters in the sun;
When shadows come, the glory takes its flight,
The treads are dark and worn, and life is done.
Oh! tears, that chill us like the dews of eve,
Why come unbid--why should we ever grieve?
Why is it, though life hath its leaves of gold,
The book each day some sorrow must unfold!
What human heart with truth can dare to say
No grief is mine--this is a perfect day?
Oh! poet, take your harp of gold and sing,
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My Baby

He lay on my breast so sweet and fair,
    I fondly fancied his home was there,
Nor thought that the eyes of merry blue,
    With baby love for me laughing through,

Were pining to go from whence he came,
    Leaving my arm empty and heart in pain,
Longing to spread out his wings and fly
    To his native home far beyond the sky

They took him out of my arms and said
    My baby so sweet and fair was dead,
My baby that was my heart's delight
    The fair little body they robed in white

Flowers they placed at the head and feet
    Like my baby fair, like my baby sweet,
They laid him down in a certain place,
    And round him they draped soft folds of lace

Till I'd look my last at my baby white,
    Before they carried him from my sigh...

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A Sunbeam.

The sun was hid all day by clouds,
    The rain fell softly down;
A cold gray mist hung o'er the earth,
    And veiled the silent town.

Behind the clouds a sunbeam crept
    With restless wings of gold;
The skies above were bright and warm,
    The earth below was cold.

It glanced along the heavy clouds,
    Then sought to glide between;
But ah! they gathered closer still,
    With fierce and angry mien.

The dancing ray grew strangely still,
    Just like some weary bird,
That droops upon a lonely shore,
    And sings its song unheard.

For on the earth the drooping flowers
    Were longing for the light;
And children with their watching eyes
    Could trace no sunbeam's flight.

At last an angel, wand'ring by,

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick

A Memory.

Amid my treasures once I found
    A simple faded flower;
A flower with all its beauty fled,
    The darling of an hour.

With bitterness I gazed awhile,
    Then flung it from my sight;
For with it all came back to me
    the pain and heedless blight.

But, moved with pity and regret
    I took it up again;
For oh, so long and wearily
    In darkness it had lain.

Ah, purple pansy, once I kissed
    Your dewy petals fair;
For then, indeed, I had no thought
    Of earthly pain or care.

Your faded petals now I touch
    With sacred love and awe;
For never will my heart kneel down
    To earthly will or law.

Your velvet beauty still is dear,
    Though faded now you seem;
You drooped and died, yet still yo...

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick

Summer Rain.

Oh, what is so pure as the glad summer rain,
That falls on the grass where the sunlight has lain?
And what is so fair as the flowers that lie
All bathed in the tears of the soft summer sky?

The blue of the heavens is dimmed by the rain
That wears away sorrow and washes out pain;
But we know that the flowers we cherish would die
Were it not for the tears of the cloud-laden sky.

The rose is the sweeter when kissed by the rain,
And hearts are the dearer where sorrow has lain;
The sky is the fairer that rain-clouds have swept,
And no eyes are so bright as the eyes that have wept.

Oh, they are so happy, these flowers that die,
They laugh in the sunshine, oh, why cannot I?
They droop in the shadow, they smile in the sun,
Yet they die in the winter when ...

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick

The Old Year and the New.

Low at my feet there lies to-night
    A crushed and withered rose;
Within its heart of fading red
    No crimson fire glows;
For o'er its leaves the frost of death
    Steals like an icy breath;
And soon 't will vanish from my sight,
    A thing of gloom and death.

Ah! beauteous flower, once thou wert
    My pleasure and my pride;
And now when thou art old and worn
    I will not turn aside;
But gently o'er thy faded leaves
    I'll shed one kindly tear;
That thou wilt know, though dead and gone,
    To memory thou art dear.

Before my gaze there lies to-night
    A rose-bud fresh and fair;
And like the breath of dewy morn
    Its fragrance scents the air.
This fragile flower I fain would pluck
    With hand most kind yet b...

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick