The Child's Journey

A LITTLE child at morning-tide
Was journeying by train ;
She saw the shining landscape glide
By the clear window-pane.

Tall trees, fair village, and green field.
Blithe boys with bat and ball,
Church spire and meadowed kine appealed
To eyes that answer all.

Blue-frocked, by her fond mother, she
Embraced a doll in red.
And when she dined, full tenderly
The faded doll she fed.

The trains flew by with fleecy steam
That melted in the blue ;
But when there sloped the westering beam.
Weary the maiden grew.

And when the mother fond compels
With wisdom more than hers.
The weary little heart rebels.
The childish anger stirs.

With feeble hand she strikes her mother,
Who gravely kind reproves ;
And now the child her grief would smother,
Upon the heart that loves.

The parent folds her little maid
More closely to her breast ;
Upon her own the child hath laid
Her doll, and sinks to rest.

I wonder if the Heart of all,
Whence our poor hearts arise,
Be more unpitying when we fall,
From being wholly wise ?