re his returning
Hopefully from day to day.

"To my door I bring my spinning,
Watching every ship I see;
Waiting, hoping, till the sunset
Fades into the western sea.

"After sunset, at my casement,
Still I place a signal light;
He will see its well-known shining
Should his ship return at night.

"Lady, see your infant smiling,
With its flaxen curling hair--
I remember when your mother
Was a baby just as fair.

"I was watching then, and hoping:
Years have brought great change to all;
To my neighbours in their cottage,
To you nobles at the hall.

"Not to me--for I am waiting,
And the years have fled so fast,
I must look at you to tell me
That a weary time has past!

"When I hear a footstep coming
On the shingle--years have fled--
Yet amid a thousand others,
I shall know his quick, light tread.

"When I hear (to-night it may be)
Some one pausing at my door,
I shall know the gay soft accents,
Heard and welcomed oft before!

"So each day I am more hopeful,
He may come before the night:
Every sunset I feel surer
He must come ere morning light.

"Then I thank you, noble lady,
But I cannot do your will:
Where he left me, he must find me.
Waiting, watching, hoping, still!"

VERSE: THE CRADLE SONG OF THE POOR

Hush! I cannot bear to see thee
Stretch thy tiny hands in vain;
Dear, I have no bread to give thee,
Nothing, child, to ease thy pain!
When God sent thee first to bless me,
Proud, and thankful too, was I;
Now, my darling I, thy mother,
Almost long to see thee die.
Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;
God is good, but life is dreary.

I have watched thy beauty fading,
And thy strength sink day by day;
Soon, I know, will Want and Fever
Take thy little life away.
Famine makes thy father reckless,
Hope has left both him and me;
We could suffer all, my baby,
Had we but a crust for thee.
Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;
God is good, but life is dreary.

Better thou shouldst perish early,
Starve so soon, my darling one,
Than in helpless sin and sorrow
Vainly live, as I have done.
Better that thy angel spirit
With my joy, my peace, were flown,
Than thy heart grew cold and careless,
Reckless, hopeless, like my own.
Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;
God is good, but life is dreary.

I am wasted, dear, with hunger,
And my brain is all opprest,
I have scarcely strength to press thee,
Wan and feeble, to my breast.
Patience, baby, God will help us,
Death will come to thee and me