Who did confess the very truth, You that executors be made, Of children that be fatherless, WE ARE SEVEN. OLD BALLAD. SIMPLE child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage girl: She was eight years old, she said; That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair; -Her beauty made me glad. We are Seven. "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering, looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two are gone to sea. Two of us in the church-yard lie, And, in the church-yard cottage, I "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven!—I pray you tell, Then did the little maid reply, "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, 66 123 Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. My stockings there I often knit, And there upon the ground I sit-- And often after sunset, sir, The first that died was little Jane; Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away. So in the church-yard she was laid; And all the summer dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." "How many are you then," said I, "If they two are in heaven ?". The little maiden did reply, "O master! we are seven." "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away: for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!" WORDSWORTH. A Story of Heaven. 125 A STORY OF HEAVEN. EFORE a lowland cottage, With climbing roses gay, I stood one summer's eve, to watch Two children at their play. All round the garden walks they ran, Filling the air with glee, Till they were tired, and sat them down I almost think I never shall, It is a joyful thing to die; I fancy I am taken there As soon as I have died; And I roam through all the pleasant place, With an angel by my side. To that bright world I long to go; I would not linger here, But for my gentle mother's sake, And yours, my sister dear! And when I read my book to her, But oft, when I am weary Of my books and of my play, Those pleasant dreams come back again, And steal my heart away. And I wish that you, sweet sister! Then spake his fair-haired sister, In tones serene and low: Oh, if Heaven is such a pleasant place, Dear brother, let us go! Our mother wept when our father died, Till her bright eyes were dim; And I know she longs to go to heaven, That she may be with him." "So let us all together do!" The thoughtful boy replied :— "Ah, no! we cannot go to heaven, Until that we have died. And, sister, we must be content Upon this earth to stay, Till the blessed Saviour, Jesus Christ, Shall call our souls away!" |