"WHERE is little Marjorie?" There's the robin in the tree, With his gallant call once more From the boughs above the door! There's the bluebird's note, and there Are spring-voices everywhere Calling, calling ceaselessly -- "Where is little Marjorie?" And her old playmate, the rain, Calling at the window-pane In soft syllables that win Not her answer from within -- "Where is little Marjorie?" -- Or is it the rain, ah me! Or wild gusts of tears that were Calling us -- not calling her! "Where is little Marjorie?" Oh, in high security She is hidden from the reach Of all voices that beseech: She is where no troubled word, Sob or sigh is ever heard, Since God whispered tenderly -- "Where is little Marjorie?" |