Little SophieSource: Cosmopolitan Art Journal, Vol. 2, No. 2/3 (Mar. - Jun., 1858), p. 72Published by:Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20487154 .

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72 COSMOPOLITAN ART JOURNAL.

LITTLE SOP-HIE.

'Tis a wailing, broken tone!

Prisoned childhood's feeble moan: Bird-notes, but the music gone

"Oh! Ilong to get away

Only for a while to play.

I have worked the whole sad day!

Oh! I long to see the sky,

Watch the children passing by,

Hear their silv'ry songs of joy!

Let me go a little while

I may learn from them to smile,

And my weary work beguile."

No; the Task must finished be;

Play is not, poor child, for thee.

Hard thy master, Poverty

And it is so long a piece

I must knit, e'er I can cease.

Let me go, a minute, please !"

No; the infant form must bend

O'er the Task that hath no end:

See! the tears nnd stitches blend!

See the face, the dark sad eyes,

WVhere that crrshing shadlow lies,

WVhile tlhe hand its needle plies.

See the dear young head so low

Almost on the bosom now,

Bowed, in childlhood's strangest woe.

Scarce scven summers' suns have shone

That dark silken hair upon,

Yet, poor babe, thou'rt sorrow's own!

Little heart! how wild its dreams

Of green trees and cooling streams;

Spots where swcetest suiilight gleams;

Place for tiny feet to run;

Air for laughs to dance upon;

Mtoss to rest when play is done;

Birds, and flowers, and children dear;

Voices glad to greet the ear;

Things she only-dreams of here!

Worn young heart! Dear God how plain

On the face, in each tear-stain

Pictured are its yearnings vain!

Spoken loud in each low sigh,

Ah! the baby's smothered cry

Can'st thou hear it, in the sky?

* * * *

Was't a dream, or did I see,

Sad one, bending over thee,

Him who hung on Calv'ry's tree?

And the voice, whose dread command

Bids whole worlds obedient stand

To the sceptre in His hand.

-c -

Did I hear It whisper low

In thy ear, poor Sophie ? Oh!

Soothed It Inot thy childish woe ?

"Up above the blue sky's dome

Anigels fill My golden Home;

There, with me, my dear child, comc!"

* * * *

Do you see the vacant seat

Miss the steps of tiny feet ?

Task undone-oh! do you see it ?

Do you see the darkened room

Shado-ed 'round with a new gloom,

Where the silent mourners come?

Do you see that quiet face

With its pale and gentle grace,

Sending light7upon the place?

Do you see the little formn

Clasped by its white robe? No harm

That it is not soft nor warm!

Do you see the tiny hand

On the breast, lie quiet and

Heedless of- the Task's command?

Do you see the child at rest,

All her sorrow from her chased,

Is this Death-to be so blest ?

Hushed her little pleading now,

Gone the shadow from her brow.

Is this Death-that left her so'?

No, dear God. Thou heard'st the moan!

To Thy " Golden Home " she's gone

And poor Sophie is Thine own!

IN

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