Daughter of want, and wrong, and woe, "Avis!" With Saxon eye and cheek, At once a woman and a child, The saint uncrowned I came to seek Drew near to greet us,— spoke, and smiled. God gave that sweet sad smile she wore All wrong to shame, all souls to win, A heavenly sunbeam sent before Her footsteps through a world of sin. "And who is Avis?". Hear the tale With the lost children running wild, They find one little refuse child Left helpless in its poisoned lair. The chattel-stamp,- the pariah-stain That follows still her hunted race, The curse without the crime of Cain. How shall our smooth-turned phrase relate Not Lazarus at the rich man's gate So turned the rose-wreathed revelers pale. Ah, veil the living death from sight The white-lipped nurses hurry by. Take her, dread angel! Break in love But Avis answered, "She is mine." The task that dainty menials spurn The fair young girl has made her own; Her heart shall teach, her hand shall learn The toils, the duties yet unknown. So Love and Death in lingering strife Still battling for the spoil of Life While the slow seasons creep away. Love conquers Death; the prize is won; The dusky daughter of the sun,— The bronze against the marble breast! Her task is done; no voice divine Has crowned her deeds with saintly fame. No eye can see the aureole shine That rings her brow with heavenly flame. Yet what has holy page more sweet, With flowing eyes and streaming hair? Meek child of sorrow, walk unknown, THE snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow; The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn How the flakes were folding it gently, Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, That arched o'er our first great sorrow, I remembered the gradual patience And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can make it fall!" Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her ; -James Russell Lowell. CHILD AND MOTHER. LOVE thy mother, little one! And mirror back her love for thee! Press her lips, the while they glow, Oh, revere her raven hair, |