POETRY.

Western Star, Issue 346, 24 April 1880, Page 7

POETRY.

pAHY’S FINDERS OR THE PASTE. From tfie piusic softly stealing iPpyrn the dim arcade of years, iGonies .the melodies I treasure, Hallowed by my joys and tears j And amid their magic numbers, Reaching down a golden chain ]E can hear a baby’s lingers Taping op the window-pane— I can hear a baby’s fingers .Calling at the window-pane.,: Y7hep my bands with toil were weary, And the twilight shadows fell, And I wandered slowly homeward To my cot within the dell, my weary .steps grew fighter, As there floated down the lane, Music sweet of baby’s fingers Tapping .on the Window-ppne— Music sweet of baby’s fingers Calling at the window-pane. 'When the winter storms were beating On the hilltops, cold and white, ,Or (the summer fiowers were blooming jfn my pathway, war o3 ?.nd bright, ■Still jC heard on home returning Rappmga light as falling rain—■’Twas the .sound of baby’s fingers Tapping pn the windpw-pane—r '’Twas the sound of baby’s finders Calling at the wiudpw-pane. Oft the worl I in coldness met me, And would crush me in its pride* Oft misfortunes gathered round m®, To o’er,throw me with its tide. ■Sick and weary, faint and hungry, I would wander up that lane, Then how clear was baby’s finger’? Tapping at the window-pane — Then how clea.r was baby’s fingers Culling at the wjndow-pape. JBut one ere a darkened shadow fell across the cottage floor, And the crape upon the morrow hung in folds along the door. Yearn of weariness and sorrow, 1 have listened all in vain For the sppnd of baby’s fingers Tapping on the window-pane— For the sound of baby’s fingers Calling at the window-pane. But methinks within a cottage Of the city pure of gold, There is waiting for my footstep? Papa’s baby as of old. And some summer day in Heaven Treading up a pearly lan.e, I shall hear my baby’s fingers Tapping on the window-pane— w shall-hear my baby’s fingers • .Calling at the window-pane. —“ Danbury Reyys.’’