But by and by, my woman-child,
For tones you love to hear
Your name shall be a fairy boat
To bear sweet loves-notes near.
And so it shall be soft and sweet,
As wood-bird's matin shy;
So, sweet, I can't decide to-day—
I'll find one by and by.
* * * *
Ice-cold, and like a waxen thing,
The quiet sleeper lies,
With hands upfolded on its breast,
And soul gone home to Paradise.
Its small life lived, its sheaf of tears
Bound in a bundle small,
It folded thus its waxen hands
At some Almighty call.
Our list'ning ear no accents caught
No name like earth-born word
But still methinks an angel called
"Baby!" and Baby heard.