WAITING.

“O come, O come,” the mother pray'd

And hush'd her babe: “let me behold

Once more thy stately form array'd

Like autumn woods in green and gold!

“I see thy brethren come and go;

Thy peers in stature, and in hue

Thy rivals. Same like monarchs glow

With richest purple: some are blue

“As skies that tempt the swallow back;

Or red as, seen o'er wintry seas,

The star of storm; or barr'd with black

And yellow, like the April bees.

“Come they and go! I heed not, I.

Yet others hail their advent, cling

All trustful to their side, and fly

Safe in their gentle piloting

“To happy homes on heath or hill,

By park or river. Still I wait

And peer into the darkness: still

Thou com'st not — I am desolate.

“Hush! hark! I see a towering form!

From the dim distance slowly roll'd

It rocks like lilies in a storm,

And O, its hues are green and gold:

“It comes, it comes! Ah rest is sweet,

And there is rest, my babe, for us!”

She ceased, as at her very feet

Stopp'd the St. John's Wood omnibus.