Alma Frances McCollum Poems

Who, in the pines, may hear low voices raised
To chant in suppliant tone?
They who, in Sorrow's tranquil eyes, have gazed, O'ercome, endured alone.
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When you wander alone through the forest
And list to the murmuring song,
If your heart be attuned to the music,
The words will come floating along.
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The lights are all low, for the sun's in the west,
But where is the singer that lulled us to rest?
The singer was tired—though day was not long—
And when he had finished his slumber-time song
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Dear Mother Earth her children trees
Clad well in robes of white,
That they may rest in perfect peace
Through all the winter night.
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When darkness slowly fades from earth away,
And dawning shades are turning rosy gray,
An angel comes, and softly stooping low
Leaves on our lips a kiss, a blessed kiss,
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Oh! me and Nellie Barker live way down on William Street,—
I'll bet you couldn't find another youngster half so sweet;
Why, when she wears that gown of hers, the colour of the skies,
You'd think 'twas made of bits of stuff, exactly like her eyes.
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Golden-Gray the twilight lingers
In the glory of the west,
Where the whippoorwill is singing
And the lake is lulled to rest.
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The atmosphere of Heaven is love, and when
The portal outward swings for souls redeemed,
The precious ether, so released, is streamed
Upon a weary world. God's gift to men
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When sight and sound, by Pain's oppressive hand,
Were dimmed, and low the shaded night-light burned,
A Presence came beside my bed, and yearned
To clasp and bear me to another land.
...