Ruth
A BABY girl not two years old
Among the phlox and pansies stands,
And full of flowers as they can hold
Her mother fills her little hands,
And bids her cross to where I stay
Within my garden’s fragrant space,
And guides her past the poppies gay
'Mid mazes of the blooming place,
Saying, “Go carry Thea these!”
Delighted, forth the baby fares,
Between the fluttering-winged sweet peas
Her treasured buds she safely bears.
'T is but a step, but oh, what stress
Of care! What difficulties wait!
How many pretty dangers press
Upon the path from gate to gate!
But high above her sunny head
She tries the roses sweet to hold,
Now caught in coreopsis red,
Half wrecked upon a marigold,
Or tangled in a cornflower tall,
Or hindered by the poppy-tops, —
She struggles on, nor does she fall,
Nor stalk nor stem her progress stops,
Until at last, the trials past,
Victorious o’er the path’s alarms,
Herself, her flowers and all are cast
Breathless into my happy arms.
My smiling, rosy little maid!
And while her joy-flushed cheek I kiss,
And close to mine its bloom is laid,
I think, “So may you find your bliss,
”My Precious! When in coming years
Life’s path grows a bewildering maze,
So may you conquer doubts and fears
And safely thread its devious ways,
“And find yourself, all dangers past,
Clasped to a fonder breast than mine,
And gain your heavenly joy at last
Safe in the arms of Love Divine.”
