Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1895-08-23
The Dumb Child.

She Is my only girl.
asked for her, as some most precious thing,
For all unfinished was loves jeweled ring
Till set with this soft pearl.
The shadow time brought forth could not see
How pure how perfect seemed the gift to me
Oh, many soft old tune
l used to sing unto that deadened ear
And suffered not the slightest footstep near
Lest she might wake too soon,
And hushed her brothers laughter as she lay.
All, needless carel / 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 untiring nurse of faith
And tender 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 earl
Alas, those sealed lips never may be stirred
To the sweet music Of that holy word.
My heart 1T sorely tries
To see her kneel with such rev'rent 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 a sunset sky
With such depth of meaning in her eye
That could almost hope
The struggling soul would burst its binding
cords
And the long pent up soul flow forth in words
The song of bird and hee
The chorus of the breezes, streams and groves
All the grand music to which nature moves
Arewasted melody
To her, the world of sound tameless 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 Of
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 babel clamor be kept free,
Fen that His still small voice and step might be
Heard in its inner shrine
Through that deep hush Of soul with clearer
thrill?
Then should grieve9 o murmuring heart be
still
She seems to have sense
OF quiet gladness In her noiseless play
She hath pleasant smile, gentle way
Whose voiceless eloquence
Touches all hearts, though had once the fear
That even her father would not care for her.
Thank God 1t is not so.
And when his boys are playing merrily
She comes and lays her head upon his knee.
Oh, at such times 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 speaki
What real language lights her eye and cheek
And renders thanks to Him who left
Unto her soul yet open avenues
For Joy to enter and for love to usel
And God in love doth give
To her defect beauty of It's own,
And we q deeper tenderness have known
Through that for which we grieve.
Yet shall the seal be melted from her ear
Yes, and my voice shall fill 1t, 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 heavenl
To hear the full toned anthem swelling round
While angels teach the ecstasy Of sound
John H. Warland.