When Christie Comes Again Poem by Gerald Massey

WHEN the merry spring-tide
Floods all the land;
Nature hath a Mother's heart,
Gives with open hand;
Flowers running up the lane
Tell us May is near:
Christie will be coming then!
Christie will be here!
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.

Pure is her meek nature,
Clear as morning dew,
We can see the Angel
Almost shining through.
To Earth's sweetest blessing
She the best from Heaven did bring;
Good Genius of our Love-lamp;
Fine Spirit of the Ring!
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.

All our joys we'll tell her,
But for her dear sake,
Not a word of sorrow,
Lest her little heart should ache.
She shall dance and swing and sing,
Do as she likes best;
Only I must have her hand
In ramble or in rest.
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.

We'll romp in jewelled meadows,
Hunt in dingles cool with leaves,
Where all night the Nightingale
Melodiously grieves.
In her cheek so tender
The shy and dainty rose
Shall colour, and come for kisses,
To every wind that blows.
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.

Hope will lay so many eggs
In her little nest;
Doesn't your heart run over,
Christie, in your breast?
Thinking how we'll greet you
Safe once more at home,
Ours will run to meet you,
Often ere you come.
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.

O the joy in our house,
Hearts dancing wild!
Christie will be coming soon,
She's our darling child.
Holy dew of heaven
In each eyelid starts,
Feeling all her dearness,
Darling of all hearts.
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.

Dreary was our winter;
Come! and all the place
Shall breathe a summer sweetness,
And wear a happy face;
There will be a sun-smile
On stern, old Calaby,
Tender as the spring-gold
On our old Oak-Tree!
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.

Jack, the Dog, will run before,
First to reach the Rail;
Jack, the Pony, whisk you home,
With long trotting tail!
We have had our struggles, dear,
But couldn't part with Jack;
We shall all be waiting there,
To welcome Christie back!
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.

Then blow you Winds, and shake up
The sleeping flower-beds!
Make the Violets wake up,
The Daisies lift their heads;
The Lilacs float in fragrance,
Dim-purple, saintly-white!
And bring the bonny bairn to us,
The flower of our delight.
O the merry spring-tide!
We'll be glad in sun or rain,
In the merry, merry, merry days
When Christie comes again.
Children At Play
'OPEN your mouth and shut your eyes,'
Three little Maidens were saying,—
'And see what God sends you!' little they
thought
Who listened while they were playing!
So little we guess that a light light word
At times may be more than praying.

'I,' said Kate with the merry blue eyes,
'Would have lots of frolic and folly;'
'I,' said Ciss with the bonnie brown hair,
'Would have life always smiling and jolly;'
'And I would have just what our Father may
send,'
Said lovable little pale Polly.

Life came for the Two, with sweetnesses new
Each morning in gloss and in glister:
But the Father above, in a longing of love,
Caught up little Polly and kissed her.
And the Churchyard nestled another wee
grave;
The Angels another wee Sister.
Little Lilybell
WHEN unseen fingers part the leaves,
To show us beauty's face;
And Earth her breast of glory heaves,
And glows from Spring's embrace:
Flowers Fairy-like on coloured wings
Float up,—Life's sea doth swell
And flush a world of vernal things,
Came little Lilybell.

And like a blessed Bird of calm
Our love's sweet want she stilled;
Made Passion's fiery wine run balm,—
Life's glory half fulfilled!
From dappled dawn to twinkling dark,
Our witching Ariel
Moves through our heaven! O, like a lark
Sings little Lilybell!

And she is fair—ay, very fair!
With eyes so like the dove;
And lightly leans her world of care
Upon our arms of love!
It cannot be that ye will break
The promise-tale ye tell;
Ye will not make such fond hearts ache,
Our little Lilybell!

As on Life's stream her leaflets spread,
And tremble in its flow,
We shudder lest the awful Dead
Pluck at her from below!
Breathe faint and low, ye winds that start;
O stream, but softly swell;
Your every motion smites the heart
For little Lilybell!

We tremble lest the Angel Death,
Who comes to gather flowers
For Paradise, at her sweet breath
Should fall in love with ours!
O, many a year will come and go,
Ere from Life's mystic well
Such stream shall flow, such flower shall
blow,
As little Lilybell!

Ah, when her dear heart fills with fears,
And aches with Love's sweet pain,
And pale cheeks burn through happy tears,
Like red rose in the rain!
I marvel, Sweet, if we shall see
The sight, and say 'tis well,
When the Beloved calls for thee,
Our dainty Lilybell!

How rich Love made the lowly sod,
Where such a flower hath blown!
O Love, we love, and think that God
Is such a love full-grown!
Dear God! that gave the blessed trust,
Be near, that all be well;
And morn and eve bedew our dust,
For love of Lilybell!