C. T. Poem by Annie Adams Fields

Beloved, on the shore of this gray world
Thy little bird, the sandpiper, and I
Now stand alone;
And when mine eye
Returned from following thy upward flight,
And found him here, and heard his tone,
And saw the tiny wing unfurled,
(As oft for thee,)
I knew thy messenger, --'t was he!

His little cry
Is meek and full of joy in things that lie
Close to our feet;
He speeds along the sands, bidding my sight
Grow keen as thine.
He cries, 'O love complete,
Thou hast become the leaf and flower
That whisper now companionship;
Oh follow, follow,
Traveller mine!

Thou, too, shalt slip
Into the hand's-breadth hollow
Thy dust shall claim!
And no fair fame
Shall stead thee when the winds of life shall fall;
Only my call
To the unknown, untried, whither these wings
Now vanish: the fading bower
Can hold and soothe thee not!
Oh follow, follow,
'T is Love who sings!
Love, Love is here and beckons thee away;
My song leads on, thou canst not go astray!