M. Hedderwick-Browne

“ Are always tired and ready for bed
Ere the stars, heaven’s daisies, awake o’erhead.
The roses have rocked themselves to sleep.
Awake they could no longer keep—
They’ve been astir since the dawn of day,
Sighing their sweet perfume away,
And feeding the hungry beggar bees
That never say “thanks” nor “if you please!”
And, baby darling, ’tis time that you
Had shut your drowsy eyes of blue—
Wee busy hands, wee busy feet
Must rest sometime, you know, my sweet—
The flower-bells all have chimed “Good night.”
They’ll ring to wake you with the light. ”

“ I seek my darling’s place of rest.
In twilight-time we used to meet—
Ah me, how lag our listless feet
When we have but a grave to greet!
And yet, this daisy-dappled grave
So like a soft white-crested wave
Is all beneath the skies I have. ”

“ Once more I feel his deep-drawn kiss;
Once more my being thrills with bliss;
Once more I melt with tenderness.
I hear the trembling words that hung
Deep fraught with passion on his tongue,
Till heart and soul with pain are wrung.
All nature smiles—and yet to-day
In memory’s grave I’ve laid away
My idol that has turned to clay. ”

“ Nor leaf nor bloom, and the mad winds tear
The last poor tatters the forests wear?
Is not the heart in mine own glad breast
A garden of roses, a haven of rest,
A bird that has builded a warm love-nest? ”

“ Who come, He giveth rest.
’Tis not of glad Hosannas
And streets of shining gold
We think so much when we are sick
And sorrowful and old.
Ah! there are times we feel too sad
To contemplate the joy,
The great and glorious themes of heaven
That angel-minds employ.{66}
And weak, and worn, and weary,
We long to lay us down,
Feeling we scarce could bear the weight
Of e’en a glory-crown.
That He is “very man,” I need
None other proof than this,—
That He has “rest” for those who feel
Almost too tired for bliss. ”

“ The warm blood of Summer runs rioting through
The veins of each leaflet—then why not of you?
Up and away!—up, up, and away!
There’s Passion and Poetry stirring to-day.
Half blinded with rapture, the heavy bees dart
From the lily’s white breast to the rose’s red heart.{25}
Up and away!—up, up, and away! ”

“ In womanhood’s first faint sweet dawn
Oh! they are fair to look upon;
Perfect from crown to dainty foot;
I see the bloom, God sees the fruit.{37}
What though a rose is each soft cheek,
If theirs be not that spirit meek? ”

“ The dull rain is patt’ring amang the deid leaves,
The mist-wreaths are swirling about the grey mountains,
The wee drookit birds huddle close ’neath the eaves.
Alang the bleak shore the lane sea gangs a sobbin’
Like some wander’d bairnie that fain wad win hame,
Aye seekin’ an’ seekin’, an’ never yet findin’,—
Sure man, in his pilgrimage here, is the same.
The sky has nae promise, the earth hauds nae pleesure.
I look north an’ south, an’ I look east an’ west,
An’ I envy the folk i’ the kirk-yaird out yonder,
For there, ’mang the mools, there is rest—there is rest! ”

“ Is no a being that is made
O’ diff’rent clay tae you an’ me.
But that she’s no by-ord’nar wean
The neebors roon aboot agree,
And sae ye ken it is na just
Ma ain opeenion that I gie.
{56} LOVE’S POWER
When you did leave me, love,
The whole world seem’d with you to ebb away,
And like a broken stranded wreck I lay.
But you returned; and lo!
A fresh tide thrill’d my life’s deserted shore;
And Love was conqueror over Death once more. ”

“ If an apology for venturing to offer them to the public in collected form be deemed necessary, I can only urge the plea of the poor but hospitable Dervish, “He is a generous host who freely giveth his best, be his best but clear water and a crust.” ”

“ He hurries us nearer the day of death.
Though his warning voice is ofttimes drowned
In the whirr, as the wheels of life run round,
Yet, whether or no we hear the sound,—
“Tick! tick! tick!” goes the old clock in the hall ”

“ Methinks the bairnie is complete
Frae wise wee heed tae willin’ feet.
{28} BIDE WI’ MITHER
Oh bide a wee, my bonny lass,
Nor seek to lea’ the auld hame-nest;
O’ a’ earth’s luvs ye yet will fin’
A mither’s highest is, an’ best.
She watched you like a rose unfauld,
She reads you like an open buik;
You scarce need speak, she is sae quick
Tae understan’ yer ev’ry luik.
The han’ that aye fan’ time tae pat
The wee bit face sae aft turned up
For “mither’s kiss,” has workit late
An’ early for your bite an’ sup.{29}
An’ oh! ”