Chapter 38

_Lily_. Don't go to-night again.

_Lilia_. Why, child, your father Will soon be home; and then you will not miss me.

_Lily_. Oh, but I shall though! and he looks so sad When you're not here!

_Lilia_ (_aside_). He cannot look much sadder Than when I am. I am sure 'tis a relief To find his child alone when he returns.

_Lily_. Will you go, mother? Then I'll go and cry Till father comes. He'll take me on his knee, And tell such lovely tales: you never do-- Nor sing me songs made all for my own self. He does not kiss me half so many times As you do, mother; but he loves me more. Do you love father, too? I love him _so_!

_Lilia_ (_ready_). There's such a pretty book! Sit on the stool, And look at the pictures till your father comes.

[_Goes_.]

_Lily_ (_putting the book down, and going to the window_). I wish he would come home. I wish he would.

_Enter_ JULIAN.

Oh, there he is!

[_Running up to him_.]

Oh, now I am so happy!

[_Laughing_.]

I had not time to watch before you came.

_Julian_ (_taking her in his arms_). I am very glad to have my little girl; I walked quite fast to come to her again.

_Lily_. I do, _do_ love you. Shall I tell you something? Think I should like to tell you. Tis a dream That I went into, somewhere in last night. I was alone--quite;--you were not with me, So I must tell you. 'Twas a garden, like That one you took me to, long, long ago, When the sun was so hot. It was not winter, But some of the poor leaves were growing tired With hanging there so long. And some of them Gave it up quite, and so dropped down and lay Quiet on the ground. And I was watching them. I saw one falling--down, down--tumbling down-- Just at the earth--when suddenly it spread Great wings and flew.--It was a butterfly, So beautiful with wings, black, red, and white--

[_Laughing heartily_.]

I thought it was a crackly, withered leaf. Away it flew! I don't know where it went. And so I thought, I have a story now To tell dear father when he comes to Lily.

_Julian_. Thank you, my child; a very pretty dream. But I am tired--will you go find another-- Another dream somewhere in sleep for me?

_Lily_. O yes, I will.--Perhaps I cannot find one.

[_He lays her down to sleep; then sits musing_.]

_Julian_. What shall I do to give it life again? To make it spread its wings before it fall, And lie among the dead things of the earth?

_Lily_. I cannot go to sleep. Please, father, sing The song about the little thirsty lily.

[JULIAN _sings_.]

SONG.

Little white Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little white Lily Sunshine has fed; Little white Lily Is lifting her head.

Little white Lily Said, "It is good: Little white Lily's Clothing and food! Little white Lily Drest like a bride! Shining with whiteness, And crowned beside!"

Little white Lily Droopeth in pain, Waiting and waiting For the wet rain. Little white Lily Holdeth her cup; Rain is fast falling, And filling it up.

Little white Lily Said, "Good again, When I am thirsty To have nice rain! Now I am stronger, Now I am cool; Heat cannot burn me, My veins are so full!"

Little white Lily Smells very sweet: On her head sunshine, Rain at her feet. "Thanks to the sunshine! Thanks to the rain! Little white Lily Is happy again!"

[_He is silent for a moment; then goes and looks at her_.]

_Julian_. She is asleep, the darling! Easily Is Sleep enticed to brood on childhood's heart. Gone home unto thy Father for the night!

[_He returns to his seat_.]

I have grown common to her. It is strange-- This commonness--that, as a blight, eats up All the heart's springing corn and promised fruit.

[_Looking round_.]

This room is very common: everything Has such a well-known look of nothing in it; And yet when first I called it hers and mine, There was a mystery inexhaustible About each trifle on the chimney-shelf: The gilding now is nearly all worn off. Even she, the goddess of the wonder-world, Seems less mysterious and worshipful: No wonder I am common in her eyes. Alas! what must I think? Is this the true? Was that the false that was so beautiful? Was it a rosy mist that wrapped it round? Or was love to the eyes as opium, Making all things more beauteous than they were? And can that opium do more than God To waken beauty in a human brain? Is this the real, the cold, undraperied truth-- A skeleton admitted as a guest At life's loud feast, wearing a life-like mask? No, no; my heart would die if I believed it. A blighting fog uprises with the days, False, cold, dull, leaden, gray. It clings about The present, far dragging like a robe; but ever Forsakes the past, and lets its hues shine out: On past and future pours the light of heaven. The Commonplace is of the present mind. The Lovely is the True. The Beautiful Is what God made. Men from whose narrow bosoms The great child-heart has withered, backward look To their first-love, and laugh, and call it folly, A mere delusion to which youth is subject, As childhood to diseases. They know better! And proud of their denying, tell the youth, On whom the wonder of his being shines, That will be over with him by and by: "I was so when a boy--look at me now!" Youth, be not one of them, but love thy love. So with all worship of the high and good, And pure and beautiful. These men are wiser! Their god, Experience, but their own decay; Their wisdom but the gray hairs gathered on them. Yea, some will mourn and sing about their loss, And for the sake of sweet sounds cherish it, Nor yet believe that it was more than seeming. But he in whom the child's heart hath not died, But grown a man's heart, loveth yet the Past; Believes in all its beauty; knows the hours Will melt the mist; and that, although this day Cast but a dull stone on Time's heaped-up cairn, A morning light will break one morn and draw The hidden glories of a thousand hues Out from its diamond-depths and ruby-spots And sapphire-veins, unseen, unknown, before. Far in the future lies his refuge. Time Is God's, and all its miracles are his; And in the Future he overtakes the Past, Which was a prophecy of times to come: _There_ lie great flashing stars, the same that shone In childhood's laughing heaven; there lies the wonder In which the sun went down and moon arose; The joy with which the meadows opened out Their daisies to the warming sun of spring; Yea, all the inward glory, ere cold fear Froze, or doubt shook the mirror of his soul: To reach it, he must climb the present slope Of this day's duty--here he would not rest. But all the time the glory is at hand, Urging and guiding--only o'er its face Hangs ever, pledge and screen, the bridal veil: He knows the beauty radiant underneath; He knows that God who is the living God, The God of living things, not of the dying, Would never give his child, for God-born love, A cloud-made phantom, fading in the sun. Faith vanishes in sight; the cloudy veil Will melt away, destroyed of inward light.

If thy young heart yet lived, my Lilia, thou And I might, as two children, hand in hand, Go home unto our Father.--I believe It only sleeps, and may be wakened yet.