Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/102

From Wikisource
Jump to: navigation, search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
96
THE STRANGER'S PRAYER.

THE STRANGER'S PRAYER.


THE spring wind crept through the city car,
  Threading the crowded thoroughfare,
Lifting in frolic the floating curl
From the snowy throat of the laughing girl;
Turning the leaf of a reader's book,
Chasing a straw to the farthest nook;
Out at a window, in at the door,
Like a welcome guest who had been before.

It swayed the fold of the mourner's veil,
Lifting a lock from her forehead pale,
With a tender touch for the thread of gray
That had whitened there since a vanished May;
It dried a tear on her pallid cheek,
That told as plain as a tear could speak,
Without the gaze of the sombre eyes,
Of a child gone on into Paradise.

Evermore turning her glances sad
To the boyish form of a sailor-lad,
Her vis-á-vis, who, in day-dreams sweet,
Saw not the scenes of the busy street;
She watched the light of his flashing eye,
As blue as the tint of the summer sky;
"Some mother's darling,"; she said—"not mine;
'Thy will be done', O Father! thine!";

Patient the childless mother sat,
Watching the ribbon upon his hat,