Classic Poem

“T ELL me a story—please,” my little girl
Lisp'd from her cradle. So I bent me down
And told her how it rain'd, and rain'd, and rain'd,
Till all the flowers were cover'd, and the trees
Hid their tall heads, and where the houses stood,
And people dwelt, a fearful deluge roll'd;
Because the world was wicked, and refused
To heed the words of God. But one good man,
Who long had warn'd the wicked to repent,
Obey, and live, taught by the voice of Heaven,
Had built an ark; and thither, with his wife
And children, turn'd for safety. Two and two
Of beasts and birds and creeping things he took,
With food for all; and when the tempest roar'd,
And the great fountains of the sky pour'd out
A ceaseless flood, till all besides were drown'd,
They in their quiet vessel dwelt secure.
And so the mighty waters bare them up,
And o'er the bosom of the deep they sail'd
For many days. But then a gentle dove
'Scaped from the casement of the ark, and spread
Her lonely pinion o'er that boundless wave.
All, all was desolation. Chirping nest,
Nor face of man, nor living thing she saw,
For all the people of the earth were drown'd,
Because of disobedience. Naught she spied
Save wide, dark waters, and a frowning sky,
Nor found her weary foot a place of rest.
So, with a leaf of olive in her mouth,
Sole fruit of her drear voyage, which, perchance,
Upon some wrecking billow floated by,
With drooping wing the peaceful ark she sought.
The righteous man that wandering dove received,
And to her mate restored, who, with sad moans,
Had wonder'd at her absence.
Then I look'd
Upon the child, to see if her young thought
Wearied with following mine. But her blue eye
Was a glad listener, and the eager breath
Of pleased attention curl'd her parted lip.
And so I told her how the waters dried,
And the green branches waved, and the sweet buds
Came up in loveliness, and that meek dove
Went forth to build her nest, while thousand birds
Awoke their songs of praise, and the tired ark
Upon the breezy breast of Ararat
Reposed, and Noah with glad spirit rear'd
An altar to his God.
Since, many a time,
When to her rest, ere evening's earliest star,
That little one is laid, with earnest tone,
And pure cheek prest to mine, she fondly asks
“The Ark and Dove.”
Mothers can tell how oft,
In the heart's eloquence, the prayer goes up
From a seal'd lip: and tenderly hath blent
With the warm teaching of the sacred tale
A voiceless wish, that when that timid soul,
New in the rosy mesh of infancy
Past bound, shall dare the billows of the world,
Like that exploring dove, and find no rest,
A pierced, a pitying, a redeeming hand
May gently guide it to the ark of peace.