A BABY'S RATTLE by ANONYMOUS

I.

ONLY a baby's rattle,
And yet if you offered me gold
More than my heart could dream of,
Or jewels my hand could hold,

For that worthless toy, I should answer,
You cannot buy the tears
Of love and joy, the remembrance
Of all that it means for all years.

The old associations
Of the years that have waned and fled
Lie there with the childish token
That was clasped by a hand that is dead.

And beyond all earthly treasures
That prowess or brain could win,
I prize that worn old plaything
For the memories shrined therein.

There may be hope in the future
With its dreams too bright to last,
But they lack the consecration
That clings round thoughts of the past.

II.

She came when the May-time scattered
May-buds upon holt and lea:
And the glint of the sunshine seemed sweeter,
And a new song was sung by the sea.

'T was a page from the book of Creation,
With an imprint I knew was divine,
And I felt the infinite yearning
For the new life sprung from mine.

Ah me! how we loved our blossom!
And it scarce seems days ago
That she crowed and laughed in the summer,
And faded in winter snow.

It seems like a vision remembered
Of a death in unrestful sleep,
When fearsome thoughts come upon you
As storms brood over the deep.

And whenever I hear the laughter
That rings from a child at play,
I think of our dear dead snowdrop, --
And it seems but yesterday.

III.

The May-time had changed to summer,
And the roses of autumn come,
The birds sung blithe in the branches,
But blither the birdie at home.

The cynic may sneer at the feeling,
For a cold, hard creed is rife;
But I know that my love for my darling
Was my purest thought in life.

She grew with the summer's fruitage,
But in warm autumnal days,
She faded, it seemed like the leaflets
That strewed the woodland ways.

It was hard to mark, and still harder
To think that the hopes we kept
Must be buried away with old fancies,
And dreams that in silence slept.

Were we never to see her joyous
In childhood's innocent play?
Ah, no! she was called, and left us --
And it seems but yesterday.

IV.

At last -- how well I remember
The long and lingering night,
When we watched by the tiny cradle
Till the morning's earliest light;

And then when the desolate morning
Shone cold through the winter bars,
Lo! God had taken our snowdrop
To blossom beyond the stars.

It was hard to bow in submission
When we thought of the vacant place,
And there within the cradle
The white little baby face.

Only one thought could comfort,
The echo of words divine,
That, tender as any mother,
By the waters of Palestine,

He spake, who bade the children
Draw near on the sacred sod,
When he stretched out hands of blessing, --
"Of such is the kingdom of God."

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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