Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1868-07-28
The Dumb Child.
She is my only girl.

She IS my only girl
l asked for her as some precious thing;
For all unfiaisn'd was loves jewel'd ring
Till set with this soft pearl
The shades that time brought forth l could no
How pure, how perfect seemed the gift to me
o many a soft old tune
used to sing unto that deadened ear,
And suffered not the slightest footstep near,
Lest she might wake too soon;
I hushed her brothers laughter while she lay;
All, needless care might have let them play.
Twas long ere 1 believed
That this one daughter might speak to me;
Waited ana watched-God knows how patiently
How willingly deceived.
Vain love was long the untiring nurse of faith,
And tended hope until it starved to death.
O 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 heavenly word
My heart 1t sorely tries
To see her kneel with such a reverent air
Beside her brothers at their evening prayer;
Or lift her 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 ofa sunset sky,
With such a depth of meaning in her eye,
That could almost hope
The struggling soul would burst its binding cords
And the long pent.up thoughts flow forth in
words.
The song of bird and bee,
The chorus of the breezes, streams and groves,
All 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 eyes beautiful; of finest mold
The soft, white brow, DER which, in waves gold
Ripples her shining hair.
Alas this lovely temple closed must be,
For He who made it keeps the master key.
Wills He the mind within
Should from earth's babal camor be kept free,
Fen that his still, small voice and step might be
Heard, at its inner shrine,
Through that deep hush of soul, with clearer
thrill
Then should grieve 0, murmuring heart be
still!
She seems to have quiet sense
OF quiet gladncss in her noisless play;
She hath pleasant smile. gentle way,
Whose voiceless eloquence
Touches all hearts, though l had once the fear
That even her father would not care for her.
Thank God, it is not so!
And, when his sons are playing merrily,
She comes and leans her head upon his knee,
o, at such times I know
By his full eye and tones subdued and mild,
How his heart yearns over his silent child.
Not of all gifts bereft
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
GoeIi ,Ir+h give
To her defect beauty of its own;
And we a deeper tenderness have shown
Through that for which we grieve.
Yet shall the seal be melted from the ear;
Yea, ami my voice shall fill it-but not here.
When that new sense is given,
What rapture will its first experience be,
That never woke to meaner melody
Than the rich songs of heaven
To hear the full-tOned anthem swelling round,
While angels teach the ecstacies OF sound!