The Children by the Sea

Ah ! merry children on the smooth sea sand,
Floating toy-navies, with your spades of wood
Delving until the salt sea-water stand
In moat-like hollows, with a mimic flood
Girdling a mimic fort ; or gathering shells
And briny delicate sea- weed; how the air
Blows inglad faces, and the wave compels
Your flight with laughter, leaving a crystal rare
Upon the ripple-pencilled sand ! how fair
Life seems, the very weary life we know,
In your exuberant play, that loves to feign
Age has arrived ! Ah ! life will never glow
For you as now when you are old ; remain
Children for ever ! common things ye deem
Miraculous joy ; battle and storm and death
With swift bright gesture, eager eyes, ye dream !
Breeze blows bright hair of curled blue billows too ;
But sparkling waves less merrily dance than you!

Apart from these one little boy,
Listless fingering a toy,
With dim dull eyes and darkened face,
Seemed a cloud upon the place.
Sitting on a stone, there lowered
Some black-vestured man who showered
Shameful words upon the child,
And later, when he feebly smiled.
Struck him with a cruel oath :
Him and my heart : he wounded both.
That was his father; tears fell slow ;
I heard his bitter crying low.
Dwindled all the shouts of joy
To the sobbing of a boy ;
Death fell over sky and ocean,
Paralysing happy motion.
A helpless child, behold it cower !
Yet, ah ! the desolating power !
Withering green earth I trod,
A small hand shook the throne of God.
Day and night it clings to me,
A child's low wail of misery :
I see the faded purple dress.
The little steps of weariness
Wavering home in their distress.
The blow falls I may not arrest ;
The child hangs on my helpless breast.
Death take all of us to rest !
Sea ard sky glow around that form !
Cease, idle breeze ! his tears are warm :
Fall on us, giddy cliffs ; we are born
For a fiend's ghastly mockery and scorn !

Man, forbear !
Before this arid waste of human life.
Before the illusive glory, and the strife,
With Fate that baffles, with a stifling coil
Of Sin that conquers ; ere the weary toil
For food which turns to ashes in the mouth ;
Before our darlings vanish, and the drouth
Of souls athirst for Truth and Righteousness,
Beauty and Love, who only feign to bless ;
Ere feeling no expense of passionate breath
Stays the stern Hand that never faltereth,
Pushing us nearer to the abyss of death—
For little children shines one happy hour
In youth's fair morning land, a land in flower,
Tended of angels, folded from the world,
A haven where the stainless sail is furled:
A realm of faery, a delicious place,
Fresh with young dews of love and human grace :
Here, like soft lambs, in the ever- living sun
Innocent children leap, and laugh, and run ;
Here a perennial fountain springs to light,
.\nd with a misty silver-rainbow dight
W"oos an eternal verdure from the earth ;
Where in a gleam of ever-murmuring mirth
Bathe pure white children, they who seem to borrow
Bliss from sweet lower lives, that fear no morrow ;
Whom if a momentary pain annoy,
'Tis but a breezy ruffling of the joy.
All holy generous human spirits bend
Lowlily here, with looks of light that lend
Warmth and fresh lustre to the home of
Youth,
Wonder and Faith, and Ecstasy and Truth :
Jesus, the child, the Lord of Love and
Ruth,
Reigns over all, Love's lacerated Lord ;
And till the demon with a flaming sword
Drives one and then another to the wild.
We bless the Saviour for a little child.

Man, forbear !
Nay ! not for every little child we praise :
For what is yonder cloud upon the blaze?
Among the happy lies one little thing
Weeping, and over him a torturing
Fiend men call Father : all are happy here.
Saving this one who feels the mortal fear,
And agonises; all before the gloom
Of life have respite, but one suffers doom
From dawn to sunset ; even this holy gnMuid
Is not for innocence inviolate found !
Even the charmed Eden Love hath fenced from evil.
Insolently desecrated by the Devil !
Even his small birthright of dissolving bliss
Torn from a tiny helpless child like this,
Ghastly reflecting in a babe's despair
Cain's brand of wrinkled infamy and care !
Child ! thou arraignest on his throne sublime
Him whom our fathers trusted, for the crime
That smote thee flaunts triumphant in his face ;
And Love may only tearful eyes abase.
While Fate o'erwhelms his glory with disgrace !
. . . Man, forbear !
Who withers hearts around him with his frown
Creates a parching desert for his own.
Yea, all good angels, when thou art athirst
In flame, shall fly from thee, O man accurst !
Lo ! the avenging little children run
Out of their sea and land graves, wicked one :
Moan thou beneath the body of thy son !
Ah ! let us hope that Jesus yet may fold
Within his bosom the lamb lost and cold,
Lead him to rest where sunny pastures lie,
And where still waters flow eternally !