Weekly Trinity journal., 1861-04-13
Wcavcrvie. California, Saturday, April 1:s, 1851
The Dumb Child.

She is my only girl.
asked for her as some most precious thing -
For all unfinished was Loves icwced ring,
Till set with this soft pearl
The shades that time brought forth could not see,
How pure, how perfect, seemed the girl to me
oh many soft old tune
used to sing unto that deadcncd ear,
And suffered not the slightest footstep near,
Lest she might wake too soon
And hushed her brothers laughter while she lay,
All needless care might have let them play,
Twas long ere believed
That this one daughter might not speak to me
Waited and watched--God knows how patiently
How willingly deceived
Vain Love was long the untirng nurse of Faith,
And tended Hope until it starved to death.
oh If she could but hear
For one short hour, till her tongue might teach
To call me mother, in the broken speech
That thrills the mothers ear
Alas those sealed lips never may be stirred
To the deep music OF that holy word
My heart It sorely tries
To see her kneel with such reverent air
Beside her brothers at their evening prayer
Or lift those earnest eyes
To watch our lips, as though our words she knew,
Then move her own, as she were speaking, too.
I've watched her looking up
To the bright wonder of II sunset sky,
With such depth of meaning in her eye,
That could almost hope
The struggling soul would burst its binding cords,
Aud the long pent up thoughts flow forth in words
The song Of bird and bee
The chorus of the hreczes, streams and groves,
An the grand music to which Nature moves
Are wasted melody
To her the world of sound "A tuneless void
While even silence hath its charm destroyed.
Her face Is very fair
Her blue eye beautiful of finest mould
The soft white brow Ger which, IN waves of gold
Ripples her shining hair.
Alas this lovely temple closed must be,
For lie who made it keeps the master key.
Wills lie the mind within
Should from earth's Babel clamor be kept free,
zen that Ills still, small voice aud step might be
Heard at its inner shrine
Through that deep hush of soul with clearer thrillY
Then should grieyey O, murmuring heart be stu
She seems to have quiet sense
OF quiet gladness in her noiselcss play,
She hath pleasant smile, gentle way,
Whose voceless cloqucnce
Touches all hearts, though had once the fear
That even her father would not care for her.
Thank God it is not sol
Aud, when his sons are playing merrily,
She comes aud leans her head upon his knee.
., at such times | know
IA his FUN eye, and tones suhduel and mild,
How his heart ycarns over his silent child
Not of all gifts bercft,
Even now. How could say she did not speak,
What real language lights her eye and cheek,
And renders thanks to Him who left
Unto her soul yet open avenues
For joys to enter, and for love to use
And God in love doth give
To her defect beauty of its own;
And We a deeper tenderness have known
Through that for which grcive.
Yet shall the seal he melted from her ear,
Yea and my voice shall ill it--but not here.
When that new sense is given,
What rapture will its first experience be,
That never woke to mCaner melody
Than he rich songs of heaven
To hedr the full toned anthem swelling round,
While angels teach the ecstaces of sound