Josephine Preston Peabody

CRADLE SONG

I

Lord Gabriel, wilt thou not rejoice

When at last a little boy’s

Cheek lies heavy as a rose,

And his eyelids close?

Gabriel, when that hush may be,

This sweet hand all heedfully

I’ll undo, for thee alone,

From his mother’s own.

Then the far blue highways paven

With the burning stars of heaven

He shall gladden with the sweet

Hasting of his feet—

Feet so brightly bare and cool,

Leaping, as from pool to pool;

From a little laughing boy

Splashing rainbow joy!

255Gabriel, wilt thou understand

How to keep his hovering hand—

Never shut, as in a bond,

From the bright beyond?

Nay, but though it cling and close

Tightly as a clinging rose,

Clasp it only so—aright,

Lest his heart take fright.

(Dormi, dormi, tu;

The dusk is hung with blue.)

II

Lord Michael, wilt not thou rejoice

When at last a little boy’s

Heart, a shut-in murmuring bee,

Turns him into thee?

Wilt thou heed thine armor well—

To take his hand from Gabriel,

So his radiant cup of dream

May not spill a gleam?

He will take thy heart in thrall,

Telling o’er thy breastplate all

Colors, in his bubbling speech,

With his hand to each.

(Dormi, dormi, tu,

Sapphire is the blue;

Pearl and beryl, they are called,

Chrysoprase and emerald,

Sard and amethyst.

Numbered so, and kissed.)

256Ah, but find some angel word

For thy sharp, subduing sword!

Yea, Lord Michael, make no doubt

He will find it out:

(Dormi, dormi, tu!)

His eyes will look at you.

III

Last, a little morning space,

Lead him to that leafy place

Where Our Lady sits awake,

For all mothers’ sake.

Bosomed with the Blessèd One,

He shall mind her of her Son,

Once so folded from all harms,

In her shrining arms.

(In her veil of blue,

Dormi, dormi, tu.)

So—and fare thee well.

Softly—Gabriel ...

When the first faint red shall come,

Bid the Day-star lead him home—

For the bright world’s sake—

To my heart, awake.

THE CEDARS

All down the years the fragrance came,

The mingled fragrance, with a flame,

Of cedars breathing in the sun,

The cedar-trees of Lebanon.

257O thirst of song in bitter air,

And hope, wing-hurt from iron care,

What balm of myrrh and honey, won

From far-off trees of Lebanon!

Not from these eyelids yet have I

Ever beheld that early sky.

Why do they call me through the sun?—

Even the trees of Lebanon?

A SONG OF SOLOMON

King Solomon was the wisest man

Of all that have been kings.

He built an House unto the Lord;

And he sang of creeping things.

Of creeping things, of things that fly,

Or swim within the seas;

Of the little weed along the wall,

And of the cedar-trees.

And happier he, without mistake,

Than all men since alive.

God’s House he built; and he did make

A thousand songs and five.