p. 108 | The Home Circle

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Feb 17, 1888

The Home Circle.

MY NEIGHBOR'S BABY.

Across in my neighbor's window, With its drapings of satin and lace, I see 'neath his flowing ringlets, A baby's innocent face. His feet in crimson slippers, Are tapping the polished glass, And the crowd in the street look upward, And nod and smile as they pass.

Just here in my cottage window, Catching flies in the sun, With a patched and faded apron, Stands my own little one. His face is as pure and handsome As the baby's over the way, And he keeps my heart from breaking At my toiling, every day.

Sometimes when the day is ended, And I sit in the dusk to rest, With the face of my sleeping darling Hugged close to my lonely breast, I pray that my neighbor's baby May not catch Heaven's roses all, But that some may crown the forehead Of my loved one as they fall.

And when I draw the stockings From his little weary feet, And kiss the rosy dimples In his limbs, so round and sweet— I think of the dainty garments Some little children wear, And that my God withholds them From mine, so pure and fair.

May God forgive my envy— I knew not what I said; My heart is crushed and troubled— My neighbor's boy is dead! I saw the little coffin As they carried it out to-day;— A mother's heart is breaking In the mansion over the way.

The light is fair in my window; The flowers bloom at my door; My boy is chasing the sunbeams That dance on the cottage floor. The roses of health are blooming On my darling's cheek to-day, But the baby is gone from the window Of the mansion over the way. —Selected.