CLARIBEL'S PRAYER

The day with cold gray feet clung shivering to the hills,
While o'er the valley still night's rain-fringed curtains fell,
But Waking Blue Eyes smiled, " 'Tis ever as God wills;
He knoweth best; and be it rain or shine, 'tis well.
Praise God!" cried always little Claribel.
Then sank she on her knees, with eager, lifted hands;
Her rosy lips made haste some dear request to tell:
"0 Father, smile, and save this fairest of all lands,
And make her free, whatever hearts rebel.
Amen! Praise God!" cried little Claribel.
"And Father,"-still arose another pleading prayer¬
"Oh, save my brother, in the rain of shot and shell,
Let not the death-bolt, with its horrid, streaming hair,
Dash light from those sweet eyes I love so well.
Amen! Praise God!" wept little Claribel.

"But, Father, grant that when the glorious fight is done,
And up the crimson sky the shouts of Freedom swell,
Grant that there be no nobler victor 'neath the sun
 Than he whose golden hair I love so well.
Amen! Praise God!" cried little Claribel.

When gray and dreary day shook hands with grayer night
The heavy air was thrilled with clangor of a bell.
"Oh, shout!" the herald cried, his worn eyes brimmed with light;
" 'Tis victory! Oh, what glorious news to tell!"
"Praise God! He heard my prayer," cried Claribel.

"But, pray you, soldier, was my brother in the fight?
And in the fiery rain? Oh, fought he brave and well?"
"Dear child," the herald cried, "there was no braver sight
Than his young form, so grand 'mid shot and shell."
"Praise God!" cried trembling little Claribel.

"And rides he now with victor's plumes of red,
While trumpets' golden throats his coming steps foretell? "
The herald dropped a tear. "Dear child," he softly said,
"Thy brother evermore with conquerors shall dwell."
"Praise God! He heard my prayer," cried Claribel.

"With victors wearing crowns, and bearing palms," he said.
A snow of sudden fear upon the rose-lips fell.
"Oh, sweetest herald, say my brother lives," she plead.
"Dear child, he walks with angels, who in strength excel.
Praise God, who gave this glory, Claribel"

The cold gray day died sobbing on the weary hills,
While bitter mourning on the night-wind rose and fell.
"0 child," the herald wept, " 'tis as the dear Lord wills:
He knoweth best, and, be it life or death, 'tis well."
"Amen! Praise God!" sobbed little Claribel.
Lynde Palmer.