Furl your sail, my little boatie,
      Fold your wings, my weary dove. 
  Dews are sprinkling, stars are twinkling
          Drowsily above. 
  Cease from sailing, cease from rowing;
  Rock upon the dream-tide, knowing
  Safely o’er your rest are glowing,
      All the night, my little boatie,
          Harbour-lights of love.

1897.

A MOTHER’S BIRTHDAY

  Lord Jesus, Thou hast known
    A mother’s love and tender care: 
        And Thou wilt hear,
          While for my own
        Mother most dear
          I make this birthday prayer.

  Protect her life, I pray,
    Who gave the gift of life to me;
        And may she know,
          From day to day,
        The deepening glow
          Of joy that comes from Thee.

  As once upon her breast
    Fearless and well content I lay,
        So let her heart,
          On Thee at rest,
        Feel fear depart
          And trouble fade away.

  Ah, hold her by the hand,
    As once her hand held mine;
        And though she may
          Not understand
        Life’s winding way,
          Lead her in peace divine.

  I cannot pay my debt
    For all the love that she has given;
        But Thou, love’s Lord,
          Wilt not forget
        Her due reward,—­
          Bless her in earth and heaven.

TRANSFORMATION

  Only a little shrivelled seed,
  It might be flower, or grass, or weed;
  Only a box of earth on the edge
  Of a narrow, dusty window-ledge;
  Only a few scant summer showers;
  Only a few clear shining hours;
  That was all.  Yet God could make
  Out of these, for a sick child’s sake,
  A blossom-wonder, fair and sweet
  As ever broke at an angel’s feet.

  Only a life of barren pain,
  Wet with sorrowful tears for rain,
  Warmed sometimes by a wandering gleam
  Of joy, that seemed but a happy dream;
  A life as common and brown and bare
  As the box of earth in the window there;
  Yet it bore, at last, the precious bloom
  Of a perfect soul in that narrow room;
  Pure as the snowy leaves that fold
  Over the flower’s heart of gold.

RENDEZVOUS

  I count that friendship little worth
    Which has not many things untold,
    Great longings that no words can hold,
  And passion-secrets waiting birth.

  Along the slender wires of speech
    Some message from the heart is sent;
    But who can tell the whole that’s meant? 
  Our dearest thoughts are out of reach.

  I have not seen thee, though mine eyes
    Hold now the image of thy face;
    In vain, through form, I strive to trace
  The soul I love:  that deeper lies.