Which shall
it be? Which shall it be?
I looked
at John, John looked at me;
And when
I found that I must speak,
My voice
seemed strangely low and weak:
“Tell
me again what Robert said,”
And then
I, listening, bent my head—
This is
his letter: “I will give
A house
and land while you shall live,
If in return
from out your seven
One child
to me for aye is given.”
I looked at John’s old garments
worn;
I thought of all that he had borne
Of poverty, and work, and care,
Which I, though willing, could not share;
I thought of seven young mouths to feed,
Of seven little children’s need,
And
then of this.
“Come,
John,” said I,
“We’ll choose among them as they
lie
Asleep.” So, walking hand in hand,
Dear John and I surveyed our band:
First to the cradle lightly stepped,
Where Lilian, the baby, slept.
Softly the father stooped to lay
His rough hand down in loving way,
When dream or whisper made her stir,
And huskily he said: “Not her!”
We stooped
beside the trundle-bed,
And one
long ray of lamplight shed
Athwart
the boyish faces there,
In sleep
so pitiful and fair;
I saw on
Jamie’s rough, red cheek
A tear undried.
Ere John could speak,
“He’s
but a baby too,” said I,
And kissed
him as we hurried by.
Pale, patient
Robbie’s angel face
Still in
his sleep bore suffering’s trace—
“No,
for a thousand crowns, not him!”
He whispered,
while our eyes were dim.
Poor Dick!
bad Dick, our wayward son—
Turbulent,
restless, idle one—
Could he
be spared? Nay, He who gave
Bade us
befriend him to the grave;
Only a mother’s
heart could be
Patient
enough for such as he;
“And
so,” said John, “I would not dare
To take
him from her bedside prayer.”
Then stole
we softly up above,
And knelt
by Mary, child of love;
“Perhaps
for her ’twould better be,”
I said to
John. Quite silently
He lifted
up a curl that lay
Across her
cheek in wilful way,
And shook
his head: “Nay, love, not thee,”
The while
my heart beat audibly.
Only one
more, our eldest lad,
Trusty and
truthful, good and glad,
So like
his father. “No, John, no!
I cannot,
will not, let him go.”
And so we
wrote in courteous way,
We could
not give one child away;
And afterwards
toil lighter seemed,
Thinking
of that of which we dreamed,
Happy in
truth that not one face
Was missed
from its accustomed place,
Thankful
to work for all the seven,
Trusting
the rest to One in Heaven!
