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THE FATHER'S HYMN FOR THE MOTHER TO SING.
My child is lying on my knees;
The signs of heaven she reads:
My face is all the heaven she sees,
Is all the heaven she needs.
And she is well, yea, bathed in bliss,
If heaven is in my face--
Behind it, all is tenderness,
And truthfulness and grace.
- I
- mean her well so earnestly.
Unchanged in changing mood;
- My
- life would go without a sigh
To bring her something good.
- I
- also am a child, and I
Am ignorant and weak;
- I
- gaze upon the starry sky,
And then I must not speak;
For all behind the starry sky,
Behind the world so broad,
Behind men's hearts and souls doth lie
The Infinite of God.
If true to her, though troubled sore,
I cannot choose but be;
Thou, who art peace for evermore,
Art very true to me.
If I am low and sinful, bring
More love where need is rife;
Thou knowest what an awful thing
It is to be a life.
Hast thou not wisdom to enwrap
My waywardness about,
In doubting safety on the lap
Of Love that knows no doubt?
Lo! Lord, I sit in thy wide space,
My child upon my knee;
She looketh up unto my face,
And I look up to thee.
SCENE V.--Lord Seaford's house; Lady Gertrude's room. LADY
GERTRUDE lying on a couch; LILIA seated beside her, with the
girl's hand in both hers.
Lady Gertrude.
How kind of you to come! And you will stay
And be my beautiful nurse till I grow well?
I am better since you came. You look so sweet,
It brings all summer back into my heart.
Lilia.
I am very glad to come. Indeed, I felt
No one could nurse you quite so well as I.
Lady Gertrude.
How kind of you! Do call me sweet names now;
And put your white cool hands upon my head;
And let me lie and look in your great eyes:
'Twill do me good; your very eyes are healing.
Lilia.
I must not let you talk too much, dear child.
Lady Gertrude.
Well, as I cannot have my music-lesson,
And must not speak much, will you sing to me?
Sing that strange ballad you sang once before;
'Twill keep me quiet.
Lilia.
What was it, child?
Lady Gertrude.
It was
Something about a race--Death and a lady--
Lilia.
Oh! I remember. I would rather sing
Some other, though.
Lady Gertrude.
Its ghost walks up and down inside my head,
But won't stand long enough to show itself.
You must talk Latin to it--sing it away,
Or when I'm ill, 'twill haunt me.
Lilia.
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