The Soul of the Little Room
SWEET room, dear loved of all my people, where
The blue-tiled hearth has held the leaping flare
Of singing logs whose hearts still kept, the dead
Enchanted melody of birds long fled,
And where with understanding friends my folk
Have watched the tapestry of flame, and spoke
Slow musing thoughts, the while with gentle chime
The clock made audible the flight of time,
Hast thou no spirit? Here on summer days
The wind on tip-toe feet comes in and plays
Now with the curtain, now a lady’s hair,
Then, fitful, sweeps slow fingers here and there,
Like some unseen and silent child who quests
With eager hands this little world. Here rests
The peace of tranquil years. Dear little place,
Hast thou no soul to guess thine own sweet grace?
One child who dreamed and laughed, suffered and grew
Herein to womanhood believes it true
Thou hast a soul, distilled from ail the years,
A heart made slowly up from all the fears,
The hope, the singing loves, the joy and life
Of those who played their parts of calm or strife
Through youth to comprehending age,
On this sequestered corner of Life’s stage.
Then give thyself, O little room, fling wide
Thine heart! And may thy garnered soul abide
With all who shelter here. From out thy meed
Of wisdom give to each his dearest need —
May the light-hearted find some pathos here,
But to the sad, O little room, give cheer!
The blue-tiled hearth has held the leaping flare
Of singing logs whose hearts still kept, the dead
Enchanted melody of birds long fled,
And where with understanding friends my folk
Have watched the tapestry of flame, and spoke
Slow musing thoughts, the while with gentle chime
The clock made audible the flight of time,
Hast thou no spirit? Here on summer days
The wind on tip-toe feet comes in and plays
Now with the curtain, now a lady’s hair,
Then, fitful, sweeps slow fingers here and there,
Like some unseen and silent child who quests
With eager hands this little world. Here rests
The peace of tranquil years. Dear little place,
Hast thou no soul to guess thine own sweet grace?
One child who dreamed and laughed, suffered and grew
Herein to womanhood believes it true
Thou hast a soul, distilled from ail the years,
A heart made slowly up from all the fears,
The hope, the singing loves, the joy and life
Of those who played their parts of calm or strife
Through youth to comprehending age,
On this sequestered corner of Life’s stage.
Then give thyself, O little room, fling wide
Thine heart! And may thy garnered soul abide
With all who shelter here. From out thy meed
Of wisdom give to each his dearest need —
May the light-hearted find some pathos here,
But to the sad, O little room, give cheer!