Page:Last poems (IA lastpoems00brow).pdf/19

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Yours on Monday, God's to-day! Yours, your child, your blood, your heart, Called.. you called her, did you say, 'Little Mattie' for your part? Now already it sounds strange, And you wonder, in this change, What He calls His angel-creature, Higher up than you can reach her.

'Twas a green and easy world As she took it; room to play, (Though one's hair might get uncurled    At the far end of the day). What she suffered she shook off In the sunshine; what she sinned She could pray on high enough To keep safe above the wind. If reproved by God or you, 'Twas to better her, she knew; And if crossed, she gathered still 'Twas to cross out something ill.

You, you had the right, you thought To survey her with sweet scorn, Poor gay child, who had not caught Yet the octave-stretch forlorn Of your larger wisdom! Nay, Now your places are changed so,