The Little Shoes

Her little shoes ! we sit and muse
Upon the dainty feet that wore them ;
By day and night our souls' delight
Is just to dream and ponder o'er them.
We hear them patter on the floor,
In either hand a toy or rattle ;
And what speaks to our hearts the more —
Her first sweet words of infant prattle.

I see the face so fair, and trace
The dark-blue eye that flashed so clearly ;
The rose-bud lips, the finger-tips
She learned to kiss — oh, far too dearly
The pearly hands turned up to mine,
The tiny arms my neck caressing ;
Her smile, that made our life divine,
Her silvery laugh — her kiss, a blessing.

Her winning ways, that made the days
Elysian in their grace so tender,
Through which Love's child our souls beguiled
For seeming ages starred with splendour :
No wonder that the angel-heirs
Did win our darling life's-joy from us,
For she was theirs — not all our prayers
Could keep her from the Land of Promise.