EDITH BAXTER.[1]
Reading edition
EDITH BAXTER.[1]
BY MRS. MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
A beautiful day in summer, At Bath, beside the sea, Where a bevy of careless children Were as gay as gay could be. Some with their spades so tiny Were turning over the sand, Some were merrily racing With the surf that dashed on the strand. And others, bold and daring, Plunged into the deep green wave, At the touch of the grim old ocean They felt so blithe and brave. Laughing, leaping, and diving, The sturdy, frolicsome crew Had never a thought of danger Under the sky's soft blue. And nobody noticed Harry, A dear little five-year-old, With just a glimmer of sunshine Tinting his curls of gold. Till, after the rest, as swiftly As a flash the darling went; And a cry of sudden terror The giddy gladness rent. The billows have caught the baby, They are bearing him far away; Alas for Harry's mother And her empty arms this day! Some one has darted to save him, Forth from an awe-struck throng, A fearless heart to the rescue, Steady and true and strong. Buffeting surge and breaker, Straight through the curdling foam, On through the angry waters, She is toiling to bring him home. Only a child, with girlhood's Clear light in her candid eyes; Only a girl, but a woman In her glory of sacrifice. On the shore they watch and listen, Spell-bound in a dumb despair. Ah! hark to the shout of triumph, That ends in a thankful prayer. Edith has saved wee Harry. 'Twas a noble deed was done, At Bath, that day, by the ocean, In the light of the summer sun.