Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/305

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Little Minnie.

Art thou weary, little Minnie?
Lay thy head upon my knee:
It makes the old man's heart rejoice
Thy sunny face to see.
Well may the aged falter,
Who tread life's rugged way,
When even little Minnie
Grows weary of her play.

Tell thee a story, Minnie?
Nay, I am growing old,
And all the stories of my youth
Long since to thee were told.
But if thou'lt listen, darling,
There is something I would say,
That you may oft remember
When I have passed away.

Minnie! my sweetest thought for years,
That's cheered me many a day,
Is the memory of the mother
Who taught me first to pray.
Minnie! do you remember
Your gentle mother too,
Whose only grief in dying
Was the thought of leaving you?

Ah, child! I mind me of the time—
A tiny babe wert thou—
When the pure baptismal water
Was sprinkled on thy brow.
Thy mother gave me one pet lamb
One of Christ's flock to be:
Now in the fields of Paradise,
She waiteth there for thee.

Ah, Minnie! little Minnie!
When at the close of day
You kneel beside your little bed
Your evening prayer to say;
Then pray to God to aid thee
To keep thy mother's vow,
That sin's dark shadow may not rest
Upon thy fair young brow.