Louisa Lawson Poems

The white convolvulus, sweet, fragile flower
Ope'slits pure petals at day's tenderest hour,
And they who gaze upon its virgin face,
Know God is good, and take fresh heart of grace.
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Friends will quickly leave you
Slight you and deceive you,
Or will not believe you,
If you have a wrong.
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There's blood in the ink of her writing,
The paper is stiffened with tears,
And I with my conscience am fighting
And striving to quiet it, tears.
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I may not clasp thy hand while I
Thus with with all my heart
That good will keep thee constantly
From sin and pain apart.
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A strong man weep, a fair girl die,
A boy in pain, a mother sigh.
These things do wring my heart well-nigh,
I know not why, I know not why.
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Just as the starving cattle come
To drink at fall of night.
They came to me with faltering steps,
And laces wan and white ;
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Though labor may claim and cover
The best of our waking hours,
Whaterw we owe another,
We feel that the dusk is ours;
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Stern 'lucy calls and nias.
Must lier behest obey.
Must now with strength roy will compass,
Nor wave-ing thought betray.
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Three years tonight since alone I sat
By a new-made grave all desolate
With the night dews o'er me falling ;
And I cried in my grief, 'Oh God !-My God !
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Bright little warbler of the air.
The world to thee I ween is fair,
And free thy life from shade of care,
So gaily dost thou sing.
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