Poems (Argent)/Deaf and Dumb

by Alice Emily Argent

DEAF AND DUMB.

IN the far and distant country
 Where the willow-trees o'erspread,
And in murmurs bend to whisper
 Messages of woe o'erhead;
   Gently swaying,
   Idly playing,
 Rolls the river o'er its bed.

In a cottage by the forest
 Lived a little child of seven,
Golden were her ringlets, shining
 Brightly as the sun in heaven.
   Dreaming gaily,
   Almost daily;
 What had she to be forgiven?

You would look at her and wonder
 What her voice was, was it sweet?
Were her accents soft and tender
 As the echo of her feet?
   Nought of riot
   Touched her quiet,
 She was always trim and neat.

Ever wandering in the forest,
 Silently like "one who grieves,"
For this little one could never
 Hear the fluttering of the leaves.
   Dumb behold her!
   Yet enfold her
 Close beneath your household eaves.

Deaf her ears to earth's fair beauty,
 Deaf to all her matin song,
Warbling tenderly around her,
 Breathing melody among
   The green meadows
   Lapped in shadows,
 Lying tranquil all day long.

Though she heard not she could see all,
 For the good God gave her sight:
Sight that made the crimson sunset
 Burn with mystery more bright
   Than we mortals
   At heaven's portals
 Catch to fill our souls with light.

I have passed her in the woodlands
 Plucking flowers and weaving chains
Of the buttercups and daisies,
 That repaid her for her pains;
   Happy maiden,
   So love laden,
 May your losses turn to gains!

In the autumn fields of amber,
 Like a poppy 'mid the wheat,
In her little scarlet jacket
 With a hood and all complete,
   I have wondered
   If she pondered
 On the harvest's promise sweet.

Oh! methinks those leafy covers
 Loved this little one right well,
For she was so sweet and gentle,
 Purer than the lily bell;
   In the gloaming
   Ofttimes roaming,
 Like some spirit o'er the dell.

Lessons we might come and gather
 Learn from her content and peace,
Sing her songs caught from the angels,
 Songs that falter not nor cease.
   Nought of sadness
   Mar our gladness,
 But with love each day increase.

Much you teach me, little maiden,
 And your smile is like a beam
Of the sunshine that recalleth
 Many a long thought and dream.
   Breathing prayers
   All unawares,
 Twixt life's dark and fitful gleam.

Will she grow up, will she linger
 Still a child? or leave a smart
In the bosom of her mother
 If sad death should bid them part?
   God the holy,
   Christ the lowly,
 Shield thee wheresoe'er thou art!