Minnie

Minnie ! our Minnie ! did I ever tell
About the morning of the day she went ?
Knee-deep in marigolds, the sunlight fell
On lilac frock and gold enravelment
Of mistlike hair,
And cherub-fair
Face, with blue eyes of merry wonderment.

She stood as gaily listening intent.
Clapping babe-dimpled hands with tender stroke ;
While forward arch her little head she bent,
"That was Papa's voice; it was he that spoke,
Called ' Minnie, dear ! '
I heard him clear" —
No voice but hers the summer stillness woke.

"Nay, darling, you mistook; Papa's away,
I answered, " far from here across the sea."
Dreamy she looked; "Mayhap he came to-day.
And he has brought some pretty thing for me.
He called, I know ;
O let me go.
Mamma, I'm sure he wants me on his knee I "

" He may have called, peichance, from very far;
Come, dearest, come away, and look for him ! "
No sound I heard, and he was in the war ;
I wondered at the little maiden's whim.
My musing fell
On Samuel,
The child who thought Eli was calling him.

You know who called him ! . . well, that very night
Our little one lay in her little cot
Dead, scathed with lightning, like an angel white,
Her face unspoiled . . . He would have called her not
Away from me.
Unless that He
Some lovelier thing for his wee lamb had got !