Part 2.
So happily the weeks flew by,
Till just a year was o’er;
And then a little stranger came
To John the Miller’s door.
He said ‘twas like his little wife,
So bright its black eyes shone;
But she was sure ‘twas just like him—
Her own good husband, John.
He ran about at ten months old,
And soon could lisp her name;
And all the babies of his age
He fairly put to shame.
O, Anne! your mother told you true,
That clouds would gather soon;
And we must see the shade of night
Pass over Anne’s noon.
There came a gentle angel down
From heaven’s shining bowers,
To take this precious little one
From this cold world of ours.
Her own sweet darling pet, she thought,
It must get well again;
But fever parched its burning lips,
Its head was full of pain.
A shade is passing o’er his cheek;
The sun begins to rise;
It shines upon the window pane,
But death has closed his eyes.
She wept there long and bitterly;
Her heart was stricken through
To see her little flower escape
Like early morning dew.
She smoothed his glossy ringlets down,
As smiling there he lay;
She kissed the little waxen cheek,
And then knelt down to pray.
To God she turns her saddened heart,
To soothe its grief and pain;
From Him she always comfort sought,
And now ‘tis not in vain.
So peace came back to Anne again,
Yet long it was before
She could forget the little step
That trotted round her door.
But soon another baby came,
And very soon another;
And now the parents saw, with pride,
A sister and a brother.
And they were fed on porridge, too,
Anne firmly stood to that;
And certainly the children grew
Exceeding fair and fat.
How many pence they saved by thrift,
Was more than they could say;
But money in the savings bank
John weekly put away.
‘Twas well he did; we do not know
When want is drawing nigh;
With Anne, it was the washing day,
Her clothes were out to dry.
Then in she ran, and soon the soup
Was made, with right good-will;
“It is so good today,” she said,
“He’ll smell it at the mill.”
She hears a groan, a shuffling tread,
And people talking low;
And to the cottage door she flew,
Like arrow from a bow.
Upon a door they bore a man,
His face was ashy pale;
It needed not that any one
Should tell poor Anne the tale.
She saw her husband’s leg was broke,
In working at the mill;
The doctor came and set it right,
And told him to lie still.
John’s master was a careless man;
He quite forgot the case,
When he had found another hand
To take his foreman’s place.
Bear up, dear hearts! though selfish men
May pass you coldly by;
You have a Friend Omnipotent,
Who can your wants supply.
Fail not yourselves—He will not fail;
It is most true indeed,
That God delighteth every day
His little ones to feed.
Don’t think it is a barren form
To supplicate and pray;
There never was a humble soul,
Unpitied sent away.
God has the world in His control.
With all its stores of gold;
He sends it forth, a flowing stream.
In ways that can’t be told.
The needy poor for water seek,
Their tongue with thirst is dry;
He open,’ in the wilderness
A fountain for supply.
Cheer up, dear hearts! the Lord is near,
And do not be afraid;
But calmly trust His providence,
And prove what He has said.
That when the waves of sorrow rise,
He will be near at hand;
And those who trust in Jesus’ blood,
All troubles can withstand.
ML 10/14/1917